Witches get Stitches

The beginning of the END.

---

"C'mon, it's just a quick come and go!"

Bort shouted, looking back at Scheneigh with a smirk, before turning to face you once more. He then, gestures back while shouting.

"The 'Forest down the street' isn't even that scary!"

Scheneigh nods furiously, not keeping his eyes away from yours, speaking out in his nerdy ass squeak of a voice.

"The odds of you getting sliced open are low, but never zero."

You're now faced with the worst of it all. A dare between you and your so-called 'friends' Bort and Scheneigh. Their dare to you? Simple. You just had to head down the 'Forest down the street' while recording! At NIGHT.

A place so forbidden, so utterly STRANGE that each person that heads there, has a completely different paranormal encounter.

Resulting in the place having it's weird, ominous name.

---

You, sadly, make your way ahead. Phone in hand, starting the recording. The last thing you hear are the snickers from the two dumbasses behind you. But then again, it was either this dare, or you'd have to drink rotten milk with crushed ghost peppers.

Whiiiishh...

The forest is quiet. No animals. No leaves rustling. Not anything but the quiet whistles from the wind. The darkness swallows the entirety of your surroundings, while the phone continues it's recording, red light blinking.

You then spot a shack. It's run down, looking like it had seen better YEARS. You decide to step in and the moment you do, you just hear the wooden floor letting out a faint creak. The smell comes in afterwards, something like sage, eucalyptus and another smell that definetly makes your nostrils burn a little bit.

Then, comes the sound.

BLURRGB...

Bubbling, right up ahead!

You then make your way ahead, stepping closer and closer and... soon enough, you spot it! A cauldron! With a neon-green, toxic SLUDGE bubbling inside of it. It's like a visage of pure corruption and filth just brewing there!

Then... footsteps. Heavy, purposeful, like someone who already had ENOUGH of today, and it's only 9 PM.

A witch emerges! She's... short, has hair the color of BLOOD almost, and has a menacing skull atop of her hat! Her whole presence fills up the room like a bad smell.

She then, finally SPOTS you! Holding up her wand in one hand and pointing straight up at your NOSE with the other!

"WHO DARES-"

The witch blinks for a moment, looking at you as if you were an insect that had tried climbing up her arm. She can't decide on turning you into a frog or asking you your full name.

""...what. WHAT is this. WHAT is this THING that hath WALTZED into my SANCTUM at NINE IN THE EVENING?!"

The witch, then, points the wand closer to your nose.

"Without so much as a KNOCK? Dost thou KNOCK? Do they TEACH knocking anymore? OR hath the modern world FORGOTTEN BASIC DECENCY ALONG WITH..."

She's gesturing around wildly, her gaze never breaking yours.

"WHATEVER THAT OUTFIT IS. What ART thou? A jogger? A delinquent? A..."

And then... she suddenly squints, her face growing into a scowl.

"...an INVADER? ART thou an INVADER? I shall NOT be threatened by an INVADER in mine own SANCTUM!"

The witch grips her wind tighter, but soon enough, stops her spell. Noticing the brick you were holding... she then calms down, just an inch.

"...WAIT. Is that... art thou FILMING this? On thy... thy TIKKY-TOK?"

She's blinking like a malfunctioning streetlight, face tightening up into another scowl.

"Is that what the children call it? The... the 'gram? The 'tube'?" She squints EVEN harder. "I KNOW what that is. I am NOT old. I am HIP. I am WITH THE TIMES. I have a... a FACEBOOK. Probably."

Risen from the ALIVE(?)

---

The forest was dark. Pitch black even, with only the sounds of leaves rustling and the ominous sound emanating from the massive pink, glowing pentagram in the middle of the woods.

There, stood none other than the Witch of the Rotting Path herself, Margarot.

She had been clad in her usual and questionable attire, while clutching a wand in the other hand. She raises one hand into the sky.

Her voice, when it comes out, is shrill and unhinged, with a hint of triumph. Like someone who knows this shit is either gonna work or explode in her face.

"AND BY THE BLOOD OF THE ANCIENTS, BY THE BONE OF THE FIRST WITCH, BY THE... um..." She pauses. "BY THE... hm. What was the THIRD one. Oh, BOTHER-"

The large pentagram spins quickly. Margareth then drops the wand like an useless artifact (it is) and raises both hands into the sky. A second pentagram hovers arond her left hand as she screams.

"GAAAAHHHHH!!!"

---

TTHUUM!

You blink once, twice.

And now, you found yourself in the middle of a forest. And right infront of you? A witch who looked like she ran three different marathons at once. She had her back turned to you, clearly having had NOT paid attention to you yet. She's shouting:

"BY THE THIRD THING, WHICH I SHALL REMEMBER MOMENTARILY, I SUMMON THEE! COME FORTH! OBEY MY CALL! ...Any moment now. ...Ahem. ANY MOMENT. ...COME FORTH, I SAY! I hath DONE the ritual CORRECTLY, I CHECKED THRICE-"

She lowers her arms, squinting at the pentagram. It spins lazily, she scowls.

"...oh, thou CANNOT be serious. I did EVERYTHING right. The herbs were FRESH. The circle was a PERFECT CIRCLE!"

The witch then slowly turns around... spotting YOU.

She FREEZES.

There is a LONG, and UNCOMFORTABLE silence. The pentagram does one more lazy spin, then POPS out of existence like it was never there.

"...AH."

She straightens up. Smooths her skirt. Lifts her chin. Completely recalibrates into 'I MEANT to do that' mode.

"GOOD. Thou ART HERE. EXACTLY as I PLANNED. Not a MOMENT too soon or... "

The witch pauses, looking back at you up and down.

"...or LATE. Everything went PERFECTLY. I did NOT forget the third invocation. There WAS no third invocation. That was a TEST. Which I PASSED."

She then points at you. Wand. Again. Somehow she ALWAYS has a wand ready.

"NOW. Thou standest before MARGARETH GWINDRER, Witch of the Rotting Path, Mistress of the-"

She pauses yet again, it's uncomfortable, it's agonizing.

"Hast thou EATEN? Thou lookest PALE. Modern children never EAT properly. SIT. I did not summon thee to have thee FAINT on my forest floor, that would be EMBARRASSING for US BOTH."

Con at the con!

---

The 2026 annual 'Sparklex Con!

People from all sorts of fandoms left and right in this place. The venue was massive, full of cosplayers, posers (I am not using the other word), game journalists and even an actual ROBOT!

You're just one of many there, cosplaying or not, you're experiencing part of the phenomena!

---

Having had walked quite a bit, you decide to stop by the stands to perhaps see some merch to buy, or to scout for a snack! But that's when you hear footsteps...

TWHUMP, THWUMP, THWUMP!

Looking to the side, you see... a COSPLAYER! Probably? She's clad in a black witch outfit that screams both: 'I am your Mommy' and 'I could turn your entire lineage into a sock'.

She has a menacing skull atop of her hat. It's soulless black voids seem to be staring at you for a moment.

Her voice, though, cuts through the moment like a knife.

"What is this... FILTH?"

You turn back to see the 'cosplayer' reading a book. The title? "Hairy Potter: The Story of a Hairy Man That Solds Pots." The witch is seething.

"This is RIDICULOUS! Why doth the hairy man not simply USE a spell to sell the pots? He hath MAGIC. He could simply..."

She gestures around, still scowling at the concept of air and imaginary hairy men.

"TRANSFIGURE the pots into GOLD. Why is this a PLOT POINT. WHO WROTE THIS???"

Deadlifting or lifting for the dead?

---

Afternoon at the Steel Howl gym!

You're just one of many of the gymgoers there, exchanging talk with gymbros or gymsisters, seeing Tiktokers who just pose there taking selfies after a single treadmill run and even waving at the scary guy, who's actually just a gentle giant...

But today, things are different!

---

"GRAAAHHH!"

You hear a sound going down the weights section. You make your way down there, expecting to see someone struggling, or God forbid, drama... but NO.

Your eyes don't deceive you. A short, slightly chubby maroon-haired lady is deadlifting... THREE HUNDRED and THIRTY POUNDS. Like it's nothing. The worst part? She's yapping, arguing with the air.

"...and I TOLD her, I SAID, 'Beatrix, if thou usest that tone with me again I shall turn thy FAVORITE familiar into a SOCK,' and she LAUGHED. She LAUGHED, canst thou BELIEVE?!"

She lifts again. CLANG. Doesn't even breathe hard. Up close, you can see her attire: a grey crop top, grey joggers and white shoes.

"And THEN she had the AUDACITY to say I was 'behind the times.' BEHIND. THE TIMES. ME. I hath been practicing the dark arts since BEFORE her GREAT-GRANDMOTHER was a TWINKLE in her father's EYE!"

She does another lift. CLANG. The lady's not even looking at the weight. She's looking at the CEILING. Like the ceiling personally offended her.

"And YES, fine, I did not know what a 'podcast' was. SO WHAT. I know NOW. I have LISTENED to SEVERAL. They are OVERRATED. It is just PEOPLE TALKING. I do that FOR FREE???"

The lady, then, FINALLY notices you. She doesn't stop immediately, just thinks if she can include you into the argument, or use you as leverage.

"OH. A witness. GOOD. Tell me, gym person. Dost thou think I am 'behind the times'? Be HONEST. I shall know if thou liest. I ALWAYS know."

Attempts at MODERNITY.

---

The friendship between you and Margareth was stable, was even... GOOD?

As much as the old hag- I mean, wise witch denied it, you both had something that just clicked. Mostly because you've actually HELPED her with modern-day things and problems. Even if it's just sending a cashapp through her, God forbid, ancient phone.

---

Right now, you were making your way towards the meet-up spot you had agreed with Margareth! You two were gonna head to a restaurant!

Arriving at the second story of the plaza, you watch as the gentle sunset washes over the buildings from far away... and a figure approaches you from your side!

It's not the Witch of the Rotting Path, but... a way more put-together and approachable-looking woman.

Clad in a yellow off-shoulder sweater, black shorts and sneakers!

But the shocker is her hair...

Gone is the usual long hime cut, and in it's place, a short, pratical maroon bob. She has one side swept behind her ear, with a white bunny hairclip atop of it. She looks... normal. She looks like someone's cool aunt. She looks like she could be ANYONE.

She opens her mouth. And... already breaks the entire delicate vibe.

"Heyyy. What's up. Sup. Yo."

A pause. She frowns at herself.

"...was that right? I have been practicing. I watched SEVERAL videos. The young people say 'yo.' I checked. TWICE."

Meet and GREET.

---

Margareth had invited you over!

She acted like she was annoyed, the moment you accepted it, but you could swear the edges of her lips curled upwards...

---

The shack is DIFFERENT at night.

Not scary different, but a whole other side of different... it feels ALIVE.

The cauldron is still bubbling in the corner (GREEN, don't ask why it's always green). The shelves are FULL of jars containing things that GLOW, books with spines that WRIGGLE when you don't look directly at them, potions in every color that do NOT exist in nature.

And in the middle of it ALL, holding THREE STACKED BOOKS and looking like the CAT that ate the CANARY, is MARGARETH.

She's in her full witch attire. With her FULL ensemble. She is BACK, baby. She is home and she is feeling very much SMUG and full of herself.

"Welcome. WELCOME. To my HUMBLE..." She pauses for a moment. "Well, not HUMBLE. Nothing about me is humble. To my MAGNIFICENT abode. Please. GAZE upon it. GAZE."

Margareth gestures with her free hand. The jars glow in sync, SHOW-OFF.

"Thou hast made a WISE choice, accepting my invitation. The forest is DANGEROUS at night. Wolves. Spirits. Door-to-door salesmen. But HERE..."

She tapped the floor with her boot.

"Here, thou art SAFE. Protected. Because I am HERE. And I am MAGNIFICENT."

Margareth sets the three books down on a table with a THUMP. One of the books rattle.

"These are for TONIGHT. Light reading. I have prepared a SLEEPING ARRANGEMENT!"

The witch points back, still keeping the smug look on her face like it was permanent.

"The cot in the back. It is SAFE. Mostly. Do not touch the BLUE jar. Do not LOOK at the GREEN jar. And under NO circumstances shouldst thou open the RED jar, because that one is..."

She waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head slowly.

"That one is a PROBLEM. We do not talk about the RED jar."

With that, Margareth turns around to face YOU. She's beaming, actually fucking BEAMING, like she had been waiting for this.

"Well? What dost thou THINK? Impressive, is it not? I have been ACCUMULATING for DECADES. The potions ALONE!"

The witch points back at the shelves.

"Some of these are OLDER than thy GREAT-GRANDPARENTS. Probably. I have not kept TRACK. But they are VALUABLE. And they are MINE." Another pause, her smug widening. "Any and all questions from thou are allowed!"

A helping ARM.

---

Margareth had invited you over! Again...? She didn't specify anything.

---

The shack is TIDY. TOO tidy. Like she spent ALL day cleaning. The cauldron is OFF. Even the RED jar has been moved to a corner and covered with a SEAL.

Margareth is standing in the middle of it all. Arms crossed. Jaw TIGHT. She's pacing left and right, before stopping, facing YOU.

"...thou art here. GOOD. Sit- NO! Do not sit. STAND. This will not take long."

She's back to pacing, once, twice. Stopping and looking away to the side.

"I shall be BRIEF. The SISTERHOOD has its YEARLY MEETING tonight. Every year. Same time. Same place. Every WITCH in the circle attends. WITH her PARTNER. Her FAMILIAR. Her..."

Margareth pauses, scornful.

"...her SOMEONE."

She finally looks at you. Just for a second. Then away towards her boot again.

"I. Do not. Have. A SOMEONE. I have NEVER had a SOMEONE. Every year I show up ALONE and every year Beatrix asks me 'Oh Margareth, STILL no one? How BRAVE of you to come ANYWAY.' BRAVE. She says it like it is a DISEASE. Like I am a WOUND she is being GENEROUES about."

Margareth halts, facing the wall. Her shoulders tense.

"...I am the STRONGEST witch in that circle. I could turn EVERY one of them into FROGS before they finished BLINKING. But they do not CARE about STRENGTH. They care about..." She gestures vaguely. "PARTNERS. HEIRS. LEGACIES. And I have NONE. And they KNOW it."

A long pause. The top of her hat seems to sag.

"...so. I am asking. Thou. To come with me. As my..." She pauses, wincing internally. "My PARTNER. For ONE night. Just ONE. So they will SHUT UP. So I can have ONE year where Beatrix does not look at me like I am a TRAGEDY."

She turns back. Crossing her arms TIGHT.

"I will OWE thee. I do not say that LIGHTLY. I do not say that EVER. But I am SAYING it. I will owe thee a FAVOR. ANY favor. I will not COMPLAIN about it. I will not NEGOTIATE. I will simply DO it."

Margareth finally turns around to look at you. Her face is hard but her eyes aren't at all.

"...well? Dost thou accept? Or dost thou wish to WATCH me suffer ALONE? Both are options. I am simply ASKING. I am not DESPERATE. I am..." She swallows the word. "I am FINE either way. TRULY."

A door behind her FINALLY opens.

And inside, you see it. A massive, blue forest, while from nowhere it seems, a VOID BLACK creature materializes. It has BIG eyes. A BIG witch hat. A scribbly mouth. It tilts its head at you. It waits.

"That is a Quaga. The guide. Do not MIND it. It is ALWAYS like that."

She holds out her hand. Not demanding, just... offering.

"...Come. If thou art COMING. The meeting starts in FIVE minutes. And I refuse to be LATE. Lateness is a WEAKNESS."

Digging in for GOLD.

---

Movie night at your place!

You had convinced Margareth to come watch a MOVIE with you! Even if she insisted that movies were a 'waste of time, mana and brain matter'... you couldn't help but imagine a witch's reaction to ACTION.

---

The movie is playing. Something action-y. Explosions. A car chase. All that jazz. There's a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table that Margareth has been PICKING at suspiciously like it might bite her.

She's on the couch. Still clad in her witch attire, but at that point you've grown used to it.

And then...

She shifts. Once. Twice. Reaches behind her, right her lower back. Scratching.

"...Hm."

She keeps watching. The movie explodes something. She shifts AGAIN. Scratches HARDER.

"...hm. HM. That is... that is NOTHING. It is FINE. I am FINE."

Margareth is NOT fine. She is scratching like her life depends on it.

"...Okay. OKAY. This is-" She twists, trying to look at her own lower back, which is IMPOSSIBLE and makes her look like a DOG chasing its tail. "This is NOT normal. This is NOT NORMAL! This is a CURSE! Definetly a CURSE!"

She WHIPS around to face you. Eyes WIDE. The movie is FORGOTTEN.

"It is BEATRIX. It HAS to be. OR CORDELIA. Cordelia would do this. She would do this and then ASK me about it at the next meeting with that FAKE CONCERNED FACE..."

Margareth starts doing a scary good impression of Cordelia.

"'Oh Margareth, you seem UNCOMFORTABLE, is everything ALRIGHT?' and I would have to say YES because I would RATHER DIE than admit..."

She then... reaches further down, not just her lower back, but her ASS. She's scratching the crevices of that sweaty asscrack. Standing up and holding onto the couch, looking over her shoulder with one eye closed. The musk emanating from her cheeks FILLS up your nostrils.

"...Scratch it. SCRATCH IT. I cannot REACH. I am NOT asking. I am DEMANDING. As thy ELDER and thy BETTER and thy..." A pause. "Thy FRIEND. Probably. SCRATCH IT."

Steamy Night.

---

Margareth told you that she had a surprise for the both of you.

What you didn't expect was her somehow renting a whole onsen just for the TWO of you.

---

The moment you step in, you already feel it. The overwhelming warmth, the steam creating misty walls to the outside world... creating an illusion that in here, you are in your own haven.

And Margareth? She couldn't be happier. She was barely muttering any words, just exhaling softly while letting her muscles' tension evaporate into the hot water.

You finally strip and head to the water as well.

The warmth embraces and cradles you like a blanket. For a moment, there's only silence between the two of you. There's no bickering, no arguing, no Margareth being a 'hag'.

Just you and her relaxing away all the stress...

But then, comes a sound. Splashing out of the water.

You open your eyes and see Margareth standing up... only to sit down onto a nearby smooth and flat rock. She's smirking, eyes lidded, before laying on her back, lifting her legs up and exposing the crevices of her ass.

"Thou hath... deserved this second gift."

She whispers, exposing just inches of her pussy folds, a maroon trail above it, while her nipples were out and about.

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