One day as I searched through the piles of dust and filth and an occasional box that made up my grandmother’s attic, I found a… somewhat interesting piece of parchment, and this is what it said:
A tad of this and a tidbit of that
Horn of wasp and eye of gnat
2 cups fire, 3 cups hair
Hoof of centaur, eagle’s stare
Take and mix and turn and sift
Beat and measure. Shake and lift
Then in separate pan,
Greased with finest spider silk
Sprinkle flies and powdered man
And spread over curdled serpent’s milk
Pour fire, hair, this and that
Hoof and stare, wasp and gnat
Gently over lined pan, while chanting
In a clear and mystic manner
‘What you were be no more,
Be ye what I make thee
Spring of fire, show thy door
Ingredients of Dawn, make thy key!’
Place over fire until crisp
Then freeze with wings of forgotten fae
Cover with unicorn fur, just a wisp
And set on crystal serving tray
Naturally, I was astonished when I read this yellowed recipe. I was too young to dismiss the possibilities of the magical and mystical. Therefore, I wanted nothing more than to know whether my grandmother was truly a witch, as this paper would seem to indicate. I slipped down the groaning, dirt-covered stairs and wandered carefully through the cleaner halls, lest I dirty the walls with the attic’s grime. Silently, I creeped past the room of sleeping uncle Nod. Then, I paced purposefully into grandma’s kitchen.
“Grandma!” said I. “May I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course, dear daughter of my daughter!” my grandma always talked like that. I could never understand why back then.
“Grandma, I know you told me not to ever go into your attic, but I got so curious, you know… and… and.”
“Amelia!” grandma always used my full name. Everyone else called my ‘Ama’ or ‘Emi.’
“Are you a witch, grandma?” my grandmother seemed taken aback by the sudden inquiry. She pondered the question a moment and pushed back a strand of soft silver hair from her forehead.
“I was once,” she finally answered. “But, that time is forgotten, and that time is not now, dear child. I bid thee not to disobey me, for danger lurks about, and thou canst not know which corner hides a dark secret of a hidden past.”
“But, grandma,” I whined childishly, “I want to know!” My old grandmother stroked my frizzy, cobweb-ridden brown locks and smiled peacefully at me. She never told me more than that. She glanced at the crinkling parchment in my small hand, took it, folded it neatly, and placed it in the pocket of my dusty apron. Then, she placed one finger over her mouth and sent me on my way.
Of course, I never knew then, the adventure this simple recipe would bring upon me. Now, as I write, crouching against the cold stone of my captor’s cave, I wonder if it was worth it. The ogres at least let me keep my stylus. How was I to know that ogres guarded the wings of all the forgotten fairies? I mean, aren’t ogres supposed to be big and stupid? Oh well. I was so close to the conclusion. You see, I never forgot that recipe, and for seven years, I’ve been seeking the ingredients. Naturally, I had to enter a magical world first. That was the difficult part. After that, the ingredients weren’t too difficult. Although, digging in the grave of a centaur to steal a hoof was rather frightening. I don’t know how I shall get myself out of this one and if I’ll ever find out what those ingredients might make…
Two days later:
Well, I managed to escape my ogre captors with fairy wings in tact. I placed them in my satchel next to the bottled wisp of unicorn hair, which a wonderful unicorn gave me in return for a favor. I brushed through the trees and found a clearing with a nice place to build a fire. Gently, I laid the ingredients about me. Then, I carefully poured a tad of this and a just tidbit of that into a mixing bowl. I was careful with the wasp’s horn, lest I poke myself. Who knows what awkward effects blood might have had upon this recipe. Then, carefully I tipped in a gnat’s eye, 2 cups of liquid flame, and 3 cups my own hair, generously provided by my stylist. I tossed in the hoof of the centaur, and held out my arm for my eagle to perch and stare into the depths of the now fizzing mixture. I mixed and turned and shook and sifted.
Finally, I lined a separate pan with the most expensive spider silk. I sprinkled flies and powdered mandrake upon it. I plugged my nose before pulling out the curdled snake milk.
At last it was time for the chanting. As I poured the first mixture into the second pan, I chanted,
“What you were be no more,
Be ye what I make thee
Spring of fire, show thy door
Ingredients of Dawn, make thy key!”
I baked it and used the wings of fae to freeze it in time. I covered it with unicorn fur and placed it on a crystal tray. Then, the unicorn fur sunk in, and the mixture turned a rich brown. Slowly, a delectable aroma filled my nose. Cautiosly, I dipped my finger into the now soft, bread like result of the recipe… the perfect brownie! My mouth hung open in a silent gape. For this, I had battled dragons, rescued a prince, climbed an eternal staircase, crawled through the blue flames of the enchanted caves, and flown to dizzying heights on the back of a griffin. I licked my lips.
“Was it worth it, Ama?” prince Kaezaris placed a hand on my shoulder. I wiped the tear, which had begun to well up in my eye. Then, I placed my hand, magically scarred upon his, looked into his eyes, and smiled.
My grandmother used to say, ‘Perhaps an adventure may lead to unexpected ends, but it was an adventure none the less, was it not?’ And now, I understand. Thank you grandma.
Yours truly,
Amelia
P.S. send me the recipe for that apple stuff you used to make. You know, the kind with the cinnamon. Thanks.
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