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Being a human in a place such as the Boiling Isles was a difficult task.
In certain locations, the days were hotter than Heck, and at night, it felt as though every living thing was attempting to devour you whole.
It didn't help that you didn't have magical powers or one of those palispal (palismen?) things to help you escape from danger whenever you got into it, and trust me, you were practically always in danger.
You always felt hungry as well, as most of the food (if you could even call it that) on the Isles was not suitable for human consumption.
Luckily, after some observation and careful research, you managed to distinguish between which foods were and were not safe to eat.
Speaking of food, you were at the town marketplace at a stall.
Unfortunately, you are currently in conflict with a stall owner.
"One small thumbkin costs ten snails," the troll vendor stated to you in a gruff tone, directing an untrimmed nail at the coins displayed on the table.
You only had nine.
"B-But that's all I have," you stuttered out, hoping the stallholder would show you the slightest bit of sympathy.
"Can't you make some sort of exception this one time?"
The troll shook their head, resulting in you sighing.
You were unsure of what to do.
This thumbkin was necessary for the stew you planned to make at home.
Just as you were about to collect your coins and move on to the next stall, you witnessed a hand drop a single snail on the table.
"Here," a voice sweeter than the sweetest fire bee honey had said as you were handed the thumb-shaped pumpkin.
"Oh!" That was rather fast and unexpected.
"Thank--," as you slowly turned to face and thank this stranger, you let out a small gasp, your cheeks warming a soft red.
This witch, who had cast her sweet smile on you, had a warm and friendly face and a cute blue jay hiding in her long hair, which was orange at the top and brown on the bottom.
She was undoubtedly the prettiest witch you had ever seen.
"... You," you finished with a whisper as you gulped.
A bright giggle bubbled out of Clara.
"You're welcome!" she told you as she walked along the bustling market without a care in the world.
Observing the witch walk off, you slowly lowered your gaze to the thumbkin in your hand.
It was colored a shade of orange-brown, just like her hair.
As your fingers touched the fruit, you pictured yourself running loving fingers through the witch's silky hair.