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Deanna was supposed to be getting married in a week.
She should have been making preparations, checking on her husband-to-be, trying on her dress, or any number of other things.
Instead, she raised her hand and knocked three times on the gnarled wooden door.
The sound resonated throughout the forest, sending a flock of crows streaming away from the small cottage. Deanna looked around, as if there was a chance that something dangerous might have heard her—she used to spend a lot of time in these woods, but not for many years, and she had never been this far. The little wooden house that belonged to the infamously reclusive witch was very seldom disturbed, and her mother had outright forbidden Deanna from ever going there.
And now she was breaking that rule. Sorry, Mother, Deanna thought, glad that she was so far away from home that her thoughts couldn’t be read. If you want me to be happy, I have to do this. I have to try.
The sound of the door opening startled Deanna out of her thoughts; she expected to see someone standing there, but the doorway was empty. Gingerly, Deanna stepped over the threshold, taking it as an invitation, and eyed the decoration with unease. The cottage seemed to be filled mostly with plant life, nothing too out of the ordinary—but Deanna was still on her guard. Maybe everything she’d heard was just rumour and speculation, but she had nothing else to go on. And every story was rooted in fact, somewhere.
“Hello?” Deanna called, turning around the corner into a small kitchen and sitting area. Like the hallway, it was entirely devoid of human life. “My name is Deanna Troi—”
Then Deanna blinked, and the room seemed to brighten. A woman with long ginger hair smiled warmly at her from the table, layers of purple and blue fabric concealing most of her body. She seemed to be in the process of preparing tea for two people, as the seat across from her was set with a teacup as well as her own. She lifted the teapot from the table and began to pour, and a lovely floral scent wafted into Deanna’s nose.
“I know,” said the unfamiliar woman, as she moved to the other cup. “I’m Beverly. Would you like to join me?” Her expression was delightfully captivating, and Deanna found herself moving closer without even realising it.
“I, uh,” Deanna replied, for lack of a better response. “I think I left your door open…?”
Beverly laughed, bright and airy, and snapped her fingers. Deanna heard the front door gently close, and though it was quiet, it still made her jump. Beverly raised her eyebrows. “Fixed.”
As Deanna continued to stand a few paces away, unsure of what to do other than sit down for tea with the powerful and possibly malicious witch she had just disturbed, she took in just how… ordinary Beverly seemed. Aside from the obvious magical ability, and the fact that she shared her name with the nightmare creature from Deanna’s bedtime stories, she looked exactly like someone Deanna could have passed in the village. In fact, Deanna realised with a start, maybe she had. When everybody was wary of a witch, who would stop to question a beautiful, mundane woman?
Beverly let out a small sigh. “You came here for something, Ms Troi, and though I may know who you are, I do not know what you want,” she pointed out. “I don’t have the extraordinary mind-reading powers of a Betazoid, unfortunately, so you’re going to have to sit down and explain why you’re here.” She gestured to the chair in front of her.
The mention of Betazoid mind-reading made Deanna’s eyes widen. Somehow, she’d completely forgotten. And as she moved to sit down, she focused her awareness on Beverly; her emotions were more guarded than most, but Deanna could still read them. There was a predominance of curiosity, with the barest hint of annoyance underneath, though Deanna didn’t think it was directed at her specifically. There were also some touches of amusement, and another warm feeling that Deanna didn’t have an accurate description for—it was somewhere between a few different emotions, in a place that had no real name.
Beverly sipped her tea.
“I’m engaged to be married,” Deanna blurted, as she looked down at the delicate flower petals floating in the pale hot water. “His name’s Will Riker. He doesn’t love me—he barely even looks at me. But we don’t have any choice about the wedding, so I…”
The woman across the table gazed at her sympathetically. “You want to know if I can make him love you,” Beverly guessed.
Deanna’s chest was tight. It was a horrible thing to do, she knew, but it would make both of their lives better, if they really loved each other. “Yes,” she admitted breathlessly. “And me, too. I wish I was in love with him.”
“Drink your tea,” Beverly said suddenly, taking Deanna by surprise. In her haste to listen, Deanna nearly spilt it everywhere, as she was too focused on what Beverly had to say next. “Well, love spells are complicated, Deanna. The easiest would be a potion, because you could slip it into his drink, but even just the dosage is complicated to get right, nevermind actually brewing it. I’d need at least a month just for research.”
Deanna put her teacup back down, hard. “I don’t have a month,” she explained. “The wedding’s happening next Sunday. I’m coming to you now because I’m desperate, and I wanted to try everything else first, but I know both of us are going to be miserable…” She hesitated. “And after the wedding, we’re moving, as far north as you can go. I wouldn’t be able to easily come back here to get a—a love potion.”
“Then the wedding will have to be delayed,” said Beverly, with a shrug. “Or, we can come up with another solution—I think I have a few magical objects lying around that enhance the beauty of the wearer…?” She gave a small smile. “Not that you need much enhancement, Ms Troi, but it might be the extra little kick to get him to notice you.”
“Deanna is fine,” Deanna murmured, taking in Beverly’s proposal. “We can try that. And… you’ll start researching the love potion, in case it doesn’t work?”
Beverly nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, and, one more thing…” Deanna grimaced slightly as she remembered the part she’d been most dreading. “How much will I owe you? And no, my firstborn child is not up for sale.”
Beverly tipped back her head and laughed. “I haven’t taken children as payment in nearly four hundred years, Deanna, don’t you worry,” she said, and Deanna couldn’t tell if she was joking. “I’ll take your payment after you’ve deemed a job well done, because I’m no con man—and how does a lock of your hair sound?”
Deanna reached up to touch her curls in surprise. “My… hair?”
“Yes,” Beverly confirmed. “I know it’s a little odd, but I’m not planning anything dastardly with it, I promise.” Deanna could feel her sincerity; it didn’t mean she was entirely honest, but it was enough for Deanna to trust her, at least at this point. “I just think it’s beautiful.”
“I think… we have an agreement, Beverly,” Deanna said, and Beverly smiled at her.
The item in question was a decorative comb, which Deanna delicately placed in her hair before going to dinner with her betrothed. It made no difference; Will remained disinterested in her, and she vented her frustrations to Beverly the next day.
“Try this one, instead,” Beverly said, pressing a necklace into her hands. “It will work, I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Deanna admitted. “I don’t know if I should.”
Beverly smiled sadly. “Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”
And they had tea again, and spoke vaguely of their lives, and there was some excitement when a frog hopped right across Deanna’s foot. Beverly tried to convince her to kiss it, which she fervently declined. When she returned home that night, her laughter was still painted across her face, and when she closed the clasp of the necklace, she almost hoped that it would fail, so that she would have an excuse to see the witch again.
She was irresistible at the ball, and her dancing came easier than ever. Her dress was complimented a hundred times over, and her hand kissed maybe thousands—but still, her husband-to-be was distant. He was half-drunk and continued to talk only of things that didn’t matter, and when he looked at her, it was as if she didn’t exist.
“Delay the wedding,” Deanna ordered.
Beverly gazed at her, radiating sympathy and sadness. “It’s not working?”
“No—no, it’s not.” She choked back a frustrated sob. “Delay the wedding, Beverly. I’m not marrying someone that doesn’t love me.”
Beverly’s response was quiet. “Consider it done,” she murmured.
“Deanna!” Lwaxana’s voice was loud from the hall. “There’s going to be a storm tomorrow—we’re moving up the wedding, it’s happening today! Riker has already been informed, get yourself ready as soon as you can.” Then her footsteps receded away from Deanna’s door, leaving her fighting the urge to cry.
She let herself be prepared for the wedding in a dull haze, silently pondering Beverly and wondering if she wasn’t so powerful after all. After everything, she was still going to marry Will, and she still wasn’t going to be happy.
And her mood persisted until she reached the altar, when Will took her hand and smiled, and for a moment his hair seemed to bloom ginger underneath the lights.
“Bev?” Deanna prompted, barely a whisper, hoping that she wasn’t hallucinating things.
For a moment, Will did nothing, as the world continued around them. Then he winked, and the crushing sadness that had built up in Deanna’s chest instantly dissipated into nothingness.
Deanna felt bad for Will only briefly, when she discovered that he had travelled a very long way in the storm to marry her. But by then, it didn’t matter. With Will, she would have been a queen, but she found that the thought no longer appealed to her.
Not when Beverly’s cottage felt so much like home, and the tea on the table was always warm, and she finally got to hear those three words—out loud, gentle, whispered into her ear with Beverly’s arms wrapped around her.
I love you.
Deanna leaned up to kiss her, feeling the chill of last night’s storm fade away with the warmth of Beverly’s lips. And she whispered, “I love you, too.”