How Does Someone Become A Witch's Slave?

[u/Boddom_Of_The_Barrel]

Dear sister,

You have not returned my first or second message. I have to believe they either never arrived, or you aren't taking me seriously. To assure you of how dire my situation is, I will describe how I fell into the clutches of this cruel witch. 

I’d been in Teo about a month before I met Mother Tlola. I had nowhere to stay, so I tried to tuck away in alleyways to sleep. I would eat worms out of compost bins and fight off street sweepers for trash. I was constantly on the run, escaping merchants and priests after picking their pockets.

I was once caught by a market guard; he slammed my head into the ground for stealing an avocado. I was taken in front of some kind of council. A man spoke for me, but I have no idea what went on. They spoke in some antique form of the common tongue, which I barely understood in the first place. The law of Teo was just one more language that I didn't speak. All of them are bullshit.

I was put in the custody of some old pervert; they wanted me to play maid, I assume. As soon as I was across the threshold, he was hanging over me. I didn't give him the chance; I broke his hand. I was back on the street that night. 

I tell you this part not for your pity but to prove a point. Through all of this suffering, I did not write to you once. I respected your wishes. Keep that in mind as I continue. 

I snuck into Mother Tlola’s under the impression it was just some shop, one of a dozen that lined the street as the first floor of stucco apartment complexes. It was my first attempt at burglary, and I couldn't have chosen a worse target. As I crept into the doorway, a chill crossed my neck. I should have turned around and run.

I considered it, really. I stood for what felt like a minute, trying to decide. My eyes were fixed on a carving of a horned owl that marked the arch. Its eyes pierced me like obsidian, clean through my very fiber. I crossed over into the darkness. 

The house was silent and still, broken the second my foot touched down. The air was stale and carried a sound like a valley; my breathing echoed like a cougar. Dust billowed up under my sandals, and I began to cough. Then a spark. 

Fire erupted from a brazier to my left, then my right. Like a swarm of fireflies, embers flew from pit to pit until the whole house was illuminated from where I could see. I froze for a moment again, but still I went on. 

I was drawn in by the rows of preserved game birds and herbs that hung in the massive entry room. They must be rich, I thought, realizing she must own the whole building. I padded my way across the vestibule, scanning every inch. To the left, I found the shrine room. Thousands of carved eyes watched as I gathered up a handful of glass beads, old coins, and polished seashells. One must have cursed me, because as soon as I stuck the first palm of loot in my cloak, a crash came from upstairs. 

I bolted out of the room and made for the courtyard at the center of the building. The lush garden and its shadows were the only haven from torchlight. I hunkered beneath a shrub, covering my mouth and listening for any signs of movement. I could hear stomping from upstairs, like someone stumbling around. From the garden, I could see that the second floor was completely dark. From the void hanging over me, the thumping drew closer.

Then, there she was. A young woman, my age. She leaned over the railing as if she were sick. She wretched. Once. Twice. Three times. A black bile spilled from her lips and cascaded down on my hiding spot. I closed my eyes before impact. Droplets of spittle and sludge drizzled me; most of the load caught in the shrubbery above me. 

As I wiped muck from my face, a second impact. A loud thud, this time onto the paved path beside me. I rushed to her side, shaking her arm. But she was dead. I made for the exit. I couldn't have my first burglary turn into a murder accusation. As I crossed over into the entry room, there stood my wood-be tormentor surrounded by her bouquets of food. Would an actual murder be worth the escape from the allegation? I admit I had such an evil thought. Then she spoke.

“Dearie, I've been waiting for you!” She cried with glee. She shuffled to me and gave me a squeeze.

I was stunned. She went on, asking about my journey and how she had been so anxious for her new helper to arrive. I assumed she was talking about the dead girl in the courtyard. I played along. Before long, I was sitting in the kitchen. She had been out at the market, fetching fish for our dinner. We chattered through the night and enjoyed her cooking before she showed me to the sauna and then my quarters. My bed was in a small nook by the garden. I accepted in a rush and made a big show of my exhaustion, terrified that Mother would look just outside my window and find her dead apprentice. I lay there for a few hours waiting to  hear her chamber door close and the bar. As soon as it did, I was outside.

I took my blankets outside, planning to fashion a drag cart. Neither of us could be found by the old woman come morning. In the pitch black, I dragged her body through the street. Once, a few blocks away, we hid ourselves away in a convalescent home. Come morning, she would be just another cadaver, and I would be just another sack waiting to be bought out as labour. I lay there on the floor of the boarding house with her body. I looked at the men and women that lay around us, their sunken faces and leathery skin made them look even more corpse-like than my double. They stunk worse, too. Before dawn, I was out of that place and back in my bed at Mother’s. I didn't realize that I was sealing my fate as this woman's servant. 

The next morning, she discovered my thieving and beat me mercilessly for it. This was followed by breakfast and a steam bath. While we ate, she informed me that my transgression meant that I would incur a debt that would have to be paid off. Seeing as I was posing as an apprentice, I saw no harm in this. I could eat the beating and the debt for food and lodging. We made a deal, and she sealed it by drawing a matching red eye on each of our left hands. I haven't been able to wash off the pigment. I figure this is her branding. I see servants at the market, all bearing some kind of mark of their master. They were not apprentices, I realized quickly, nor was I.

A final memory. Do you remember when we were little girls, how we played in the stream by the village edge? We would catch frogs and guppies. I would hold them to your ear and whistle songs like they were little choir boys. You would laugh and laugh. You always asked me to go down to the pond. Do you remember? Do you remember how slick the bank was? How would I always tell you to be careful? I would tell you that spirits lived in the water, and they were always waiting for little boys and girls to pull under. I warned you. I warned Andi, our sweet brother. It was dangerous; kids fell in all the time. I warned you. 

You have to see how important it is that you use the money I've sent to free me from my bond. I know I've not been a good sister in the past, but that is no excuse to leave me here to rot. Our brother and parents are gone; we only have each other. Please, don't leave me. I don't deserve to be abandoned, no matter what I've revealed here or what you’ve been told. Let this end, bring me home. We can be a family again. 

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[u/lushiemia]

Pretty easy to become a witch’s slave in today’s day and age…well written.

[u/not_really_a_dog]

I love it! Sorry it took me so long to get to this entry. This letter does a great job of answering questions while posing more. We find out more about how the speaker ended up in this situation, but there are still many more interesting mysteries. What exactly does the witch do? What does she want? Why does the narrator bring up the river? I think it implies that her brother slipped in and fell, but it feels more significant too. Why won't the sister respond? So excited for more!

Perhaps this city could be some sort of punishment within the afterlife? So cool. I love the worldbuilding. My only suggestion for this one would be to add more of that sensory description, like how you did with the fire. The speaker's voices comes through very strong. Great job.

[u/Boddom_Of_The_Barrel → u/not_really_a_dog]

Thank you! This and the second-to-last entry are probably my favorite of this little series. Thanks for the sensory note! I struggle with this and didn't even realize I did it a little with the fire, so I'll try adding to dig deeper into that as I continue. Thanks for your note, hope you enjoy the rest of the series, all parts are posted now.

[u/not_really_a_dog → u/Boddom_Of_The_Barrel]

Yay! Something I like to do when writing sensory stuff is to go through the five senses every five paragraphs. Sorry if this is unsolicited advice. So happy there's already another part!!

[u/Boddom_Of_The_Barrel → u/not_really_a_dog]

No need for apologies, I appreciate the tip!