Therapy Bits

Deep in the heart of the Blackthorn Forest, where moonlight tangled in the crooked branches and owls spoke in whispers, lived a witch named Elara. Her cottage was small but warm, built of stone and covered in ivy that shimmered silver in the moonlight. Inside, jars of herbs lined every shelf—mugwort, wolfsbane, elderflower, and things with names too strange to speak aloud.

Elara’s pride was her great iron cauldron, older than any living soul in the forest. It stood in the center of her cottage, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly when the fire beneath it burned. To Elara, the cauldron was more than a tool—it was a friend.

One crisp autumn night, the air crackled with the promise of change. Elara tied her silver hair back and lit the fire beneath the cauldron. The flames hissed eagerly, and she began to stir, whispering her incantations.

“Eye of storm and breath of night,
Bring my spell to life and light.”

The mixture inside began to glow, swirling in shades of emerald and violet. A soft hum filled the room—the cauldron’s song. Each spell she brewed had its own melody, and this one was particularly haunting.

Tonight’s work was special. The villagers had lost their crops to early frost, and Elara wanted to summon warmth to the fields. She dropped in the final ingredient: a single sunstone shard, warm to the touch. The potion shimmered gold, and the witch smiled.

But then, something unexpected happened. The song deepened, and the cauldron trembled. The air grew thick with power as sparks leapt from the fire. Elara’s eyes widened—she had added too much sunstone.

“Easy now,” she murmured, placing her hands on the rim. “We’ll balance this together.”

The cauldron hissed, then stilled. The light faded to a gentle amber, and the air warmed. Outside, the frost began to melt from the leaves, and the stars seemed to shine a little brighter.

Elara sighed in relief. “Good girl,” she whispered to the cauldron. “We’ve done it again.”

As dawn crept into the forest, the witch sat by the dying fire, sipping tea brewed from the same herbs she used in her spells. Magic, she thought, wasn’t just in the words or the potions—it was in the care, the balance, the trust between her and her craft.

And from somewhere deep inside the iron belly of the cauldron came a low, contented hum.

Cauldron – Word of the Day Challenge