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Standing on the outskirts of the town, the larger Hawthorn tree in the middle of the crossroad as shade and cover, Agatha watched her mother go about her daily tasks like always.
A child out of wedlock, it took weeks to convince the town that she wasn't an omen that would bring misfortune onto the land, but still they did not let her play. She wasn't allowed to enter the storefront and stalls with her mother, too much of a troublemaker despite never making trouble, so Agatha spent her time amongst the grass. Amongst the trees.
Shivering as a wind took her by surprise, Agatha grabbed her shawl tighter and tucked herself closer to the warmth of the wood.
“Why not venture forth?”
Agatha jumped, startled by the sudden voice that had seemingly emerged from the forest. Turning, she looked desperate to see who it was.
Clara, the baker's daughter, here to remind her that all she'll ever do is to work as a servant? Mary, the woolmaker, who seemed to like goading a child despite her old age? Rosemary, the quiet farmer's daughter, who only speaks when Clara does?
No one.
Grasping the brooch on her shawl to tighten it, Agatha cleared her throat and took a step forward. “Show thyself!” She called into the air, scanning the treetops near where her house was, checking hedgerows for beady eyes, but still… no one.
“It must be some wicked spirit, playing their tricks on you, casting whispered voices to the wind.”
Agatha stumbled, eyes wide with shock as a girl no older than her stood in just the empty spot she had been surveying, in glittering emerald and moss. Ethereal, yet completely human. “What tricks!” She exclaimed, fingertips alight as the energy she still could not possess properly began to ebb in her bones.
The smirk on the other girl's face made her immediately unclench her hand, her fingers loosening as an overwhelming feeling of calm washed over her. “You are… not here to make crude gestures or comments on my attire?” Agatha watched cautiously as the girl took down her hood, shaking out long hair of the darkest blackberry shade that she had ever seen.
“Your attire is regular.” The girl mused with a shrug, moving around Agatha's side to look out over the town. “The people here mock you? You are but a babe, fresh from the earth. What could they have to say for you?”
Agatha followed, keeping her side to the tree trunk as she turned to look with the strange girl. “The devil's daughter. A curse. A plague of shame upon the family.” She sighed, raising a finger to point towards her mother as the woman haggled with a fishmonger. “Evidence of my mother's degeneration and defiance against God?”
The girl’s eyes were fixed now, watching Agatha's mother yelling and spitting curses in the centre, and she let out a huff. “Her faults are not yours to carry.”
Agatha sighed. “Tell that to them.”
The girl turned, staring at Agatha with a stare that the girl had never seen before on someone her age. A look of weariness, exhaustion, knowledge way beyond her years, and a want to speak but a need to hold their tongue. “I'm telling it to you.” Agatha felt her skin tingle as the young girl grabbed her wrist, the energy was like that just before a lightning storm. “You are not your mother. Do not let her think it so.”
The air caught in Agatha's throat as the girl let go of her wrist and turned back to the forest she seemed to appear from.
This strange girl with the deepest pools of eyes holding a lifetime of wisdom in a small form… a witch? At her age?
“Your potatoes will grow rotten in the ground. Do not plant them.” the girl called back as her green cloak fluttered in the breeze that caused Agatha to tuck back close to the tree once more. “You should favour corn.”
As the wind picked up and Agatha's shawl was whipped across her face from the force, the girl vanished, and left behind was only the soft fauna glistening with fresh dewdrops as if it was the early morning, not the mid afternoon.
Looking back at the town, Agatha swallowed down the call out that was hung in her throat. She didn't know the girl's name. How could she even find her again?.
As her mother approached with seeds and produce, Agatha stood up straighter and forced a warm smile.
There was someone out there who didn't hate her just for being. At least now she has a reason to hang around the trees next week.
A strange witch girl, cloaked in greenery, surely wouldn't be a difficult person to find.