A Potion of Sorts, Made by Old Warts

An introductory chapter to my new story; Witch [possibly a working title... we'll see] Re-worked and hopefully much better than the original

As she slides her hand down my leg I tell myself "its not real, its not real". The woman with the dirty brown hair is breathing on me and deeply taking in my scent. She scratches her long nails down my leg, tearing at my jeans and scratching my inside leg.

From what I can see the room has no natural light source, she is covered in a long black dress. Her breath, foul, and her untamed brown hair is knotted and greasy.

As if that were enough, she got her kicks, she turns and struts to the other side of her cauldron. This time I try to say it aloud, "its not real, f****n' psycho".

"What are you mumbling about?" she challenges me from the other side of the room as she starts to cut some sort of root . "Try saying it with some conviction" she snaps at me as she breaks the pieces over her bubbling pot. She lets out a laugh as deep as the mesmerising green fire, which I can't help but stare into. She then begins a crackling cackle. There has to be something wrong with her, dressed in those awful clothes and living like this, but then of course... who keeps someone handcuffed in their basement?

Her fire is burning a bright green, but what does this mean? Trickery can be quite simple, they use magnesium and other elements to change the colour of fireworks. Is she a part of some cult? Does she think she's sacrificing me to some made up god or devil? Whatever this is I just want to get out of this place, unharmed and back to normality.

The dark, dank room, lit by the green flame, has a stale smell. Filled with strange pots and pans, the only window, being somewhere behind my head, is somehow covered. I can hear the window shake as the wind rattles the house.

A huge whiff of smoke erupts from the pot as she chucks in some other ingredient, what looks like a handful of dirt. The scent of the potion fills my mouth, then my lungs and my body in a way that possesses my senses. I taste something bitter as the smell attacks my mouth. My mouth waters, as do my eyes. I cringe at this and feel as if I'm going to fall, but I'm not standing. I can barely move.

She takes her huge wooden spoon and applies it to the pot and stirs. She takes the spoon out, leveled with the mixture. As she walks towards me, the foul mixture on the spoon in front of her, steam rising from it, I wonder what effect this could have on me. How I can avoid the yellow substance? She reaches for my face but I move away, so she grabs me by my hair, digging her claws into my scalp. She tugs my head back and forward, and again before she forces the spoon into my mouth. It barely fits and I accidentally swallow the concoction before I can think to spit it out.

The strangest feelings venture through my body. First the potion crawls into my stomach, heavy and invasive. It feels like cruelty, occurring inside me, stretching out its dark fingers and reaching further in like her claws. I feel myself fall a thousand miles but with no landing. My stomach twists for a long moment. A tear leaves my right eye and the sensation changes. My stomach changes, it feels light. The mixture has changed and fills me with the same light feeling. If my limbs were not fastened to this chair I'm certain I'd be floating. I feel as if I have seen something fascinating and beautiful but I have no idea what it could have been. My body is relaxed and warm but I feel tired.

I'm drifting away, with no sense of direction. Whether I'm a free spirit or a lost soul I'm drifting. The woman's voice proudly proclaims from somewhere in the room "You cannot fathom it" and I fall asleep.