Down in the cellar, the witch keeps a dusty treasury of the arcane. Light from her lantern slices through the shelves as she walks through the cluttered paraphernalia.
The items down here range from the mundane to the dangerous. Elixirs of youth. Knives that cut through time. A portal to the other place. And at the back of the room, in its darkest corner, there stands a black mannequin. Dark energies coalesce around it. It hasn't seen the light of day for centuries.
The witch's ethereal hands, which hover around her, scoop up the mannequin and lift it up the stairs. The witch places it in a corner. Dusts it off. Then hangs some wet laundry over its splayed limbs.
Paddy Dobson
11th February 2022