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The Recluse found that their cottage was quiet, as of late. With their daughter striking out on her own, their day to day had become less frantic, settling back into the routine they’d had before the witch had given them their child. She visited — their daughter, that was — now and then, telling stories of her adventures and her visits to the village, and the Recluse fussed and worried but let her live her life without complaint.
They missed when she was a little budding creature, small and wriggling out of her pot to hop around the cottage, sweet little face watching their every move. That was just the life of a parent, they supposed. And they were proud of the (strange, fae-touched, witch-like) woman she had grown to be, so it wasn’t as if they would go back even if it were possible.
Still — their life had become quiet again, of late. The forest was as full of singing insects and chattering birds as it always was, but their cottage felt…lonely.
They started to spend more time out in the woods, to avoid looking at their table — set for one — or at the empty pot of soil on their windowsill. Instead they foraged or hunted, did odd tasks for the mayor of the village, tended to their little garden. They wandered in the little sphere of their world, to the places they had always wandered — the depths of the forest, the babbling river. The graveyard.
It was on the way back from this last haunt that they found their way to the Witch’s hut and paused. They had taken their daughter here once or twice when she had been young, some vague notion in their head that a girl ought to have someone to look up to. They couldn’t be her only role model, after all.
While they were lost in reminiscing, the door to the Witch’s hut opened, and for a moment, the Recluse didn’t notice her at all, thinking of their daughter as they looked at the mushrooms in the area. When they finally did realize that the feeling of being watched was real and not simply being in the vicinity of the Witch in general, they stammered, hands coming up in apology, and the Witch’s lips quirked in a smile. She looked at them like she always had — like they amused her, though not with the condescension that the Recluse often saw on the faces of the villagers. She swept her hand and dipped in a mockery of a courtly bow, still smiling as she straightened, and the Recluse — perhaps struck by uncharacteristic whimsy — returned the gesture, feeling more at ease as they stood.
With no words exchanged, the Recluse went on their way again, feeling the Witch’s eyes on them until they arrived at their own front door.
Time passed, as time tended to. The Recluse prepared for winter, preserving what forage they could spare, hunting while there was still game to hunt, braving the village to buy wares and pad out their stores. Their daughter visited and told them excitedly about the friends she had made and the adventures she had had, and the Recluse listened, their heart feeling softer and more vivid than it had in years, now.
It was a cool evening when the knock came to their door. It was too late for it to be their daughter, and usually if anyone had work for them they came to petition them far earlier in the day — fearing, the Recluse supposed, the Witch of the Woods might take offense if they lingered too late. She had never minded the Recluse’s presence, but the Recluse was more polite than the average villager, they assumed. They went to answer the knock, lost in thought about the Witch and the village, and only managed a faint gasp before their were pressed back into their small living space, their former partner, once banished from their cabin, back once again.
They regretted that they hadn’t killed him, but with their daughter in the other room, they hadn’t dared. They hadn’t wanted — they still didn’t want — their child to have the same darkness in her life that they did.
“I left you alone before,” the man said, as the Recluse backed towards their kitchen table. “Because you asked me to, for your kid’s sake, because we used to be partners. But she’s grown now, isn’t she? I see her in town. So I — ”
The Recluse reached behind them for the knife they’d set on the table, stained with juice from the berries they’d been jarring, but before they could do more than close their fingers around the handle there was a shift in the air. Their ears popped like a storm was breaking; their former partner’s nose trickled a thin stream of fresh, bright blood; his eyes glazed over; his knees buckled and he crumpled on their front step, a puppet with its strings cut. The Recluse stared at him blankly for a moment, then glanced up to find the Witch leaning into their hut, examining the fresh corpse with her head tilted, like a curious crow. Eventually she looked up.
“Did I frighten you?” she asked.
The Recluse considered her question with all the weight any question posed by a Witch deserved. “Surprised me, more than frightened,” they said eventually, and set their knife down and put their hands in front of them, so the Witch could see they held no weapon.
“Are you upset I killed him?” she asked.
“I would have if you hadn’t,” the Recluse admitted. “Why did you?”
The Witch tipped her head again, as if she were weighing their question with the same consideration they had given hers. “You begged him to leave you be, for my daughter’s sake,” she said eventually. “And he did not. A deal made in my woods ought to be honored.”
The Recluse nodded thoughtfully, eyeing the corpse cooling on their floor. “Thank you,” they said. Then, “I was making dinner. I could repay you with that, if you like?”
The Witch looked amused, her lips quirking, an eyebrow arching thoughtfully. “Very well,” she said. “I accept.”
She stepped over the body to enter, and took it with her when she left. She even cleared away the few droplets of blood left behind, and bowed to the Recluse as she went, and because now it was habit, the Recluse returned the gesture, waving as she vanished into the trees.
One day, the Recluse woke to find the Witch’s hut beside their own, settled among the trees and their garden as if it had always been there. Her own garden had come along with it, apparently, little mushrooms and twisting vines huddled about her cottage like chicks huddled around a hen. The Witch, with a basket full of strange reagents on her hip, bowed in greeting, and the Recluse did the same, as they always did when they saw the Witch these days.
“Our daughter will visit today,” the Witch said, without elaborating how she knew or why she had decided to move her home to be close by. “I will gather ingredients if you cook.”
The Recluse considered this, then nodded. “Alright,” they said. “She told me she tried risotto recently.”
“Do you know how to cook risotto?”
“I could try, at least.”
And so, they tried their best. They didn’t think the recipe was exactly right, but their daughter was pleased with the results. She seemed even more pleased to see that the Witch had come to join them for dinner; she informed the Recluse that she worried about them being lonely. The idea that she would worry for them — that she might worry about them being alone, particularly — almost made them laugh, but they didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so instead they hugged her and reassured her that they were very happy and she didn’t need to fuss over them.
That night, after their daughter had left, the Recluse found themself in the company of the Witch. They washed dishes while she sat at their table; they could tell she was watching them and let her, unbothered by her gaze, even if its intensity was startling and deep. They had no reason to believe she intended them any ill will — they had seen what she was capable of, after all, and if they had offended her they imagined they would be quite dead without all this fuss.
“She’s grown well,” the Witch said eventually, as the Recluse finished setting the last of their dishes aside to dry. “You raised her into quite an impressive young woman.”
“I did what I could,” the Recluse said modestly, turning to regard the Witch. “I’m glad she’s happy. And that she visits.”
The Witch stood, smiling as she came close; the Recluse stayed very still. Some part of them thought that they ought to feel fear, like a rabbit with a hawk circling overhead, but they couldn’t quite bring themself to fear the Witch. Not properly, at any rate. They respected her, and what she was capable of, in the way one might respect a thunderstorm or a bear, but they trusted her, somehow, not to turn that capability on them. When she reached out with a hand, they tilted their head so she could cup their cheek in her palm.
She was shorter than they were. Not by a great deal, but somehow they had never considered they might be in a position to look down at her. “I’m going to kiss you,” she informed them.
“Oh,” the Recluse said, flustered and surprised and a little unsure if they remembered how to do that sort of thing. They wouldn’t want to disappoint the Witch of the Woods, after all. “You don’t have to,” they said. “You can,” they added, “if you like, but I’m not — mmm…”
Her lips were softer, somehow, than the Recluse had been expecting. They wavered, a little, unsure where to put their hands, what to do with their nose, but slowly they sank into the kiss like sinking beneath the surface of a pond. Their eyes closed and they brought one hand up to hold the Witch’s where it cupped their cheek; the other hovered uncertainly until she laced their fingers in hers. They recalled how bodies could fit together with softness and light, rather than the dark, cold, harsh realities they had so often dealt with, back when they had lived among other humans. The Witch was not gentle but she was like the Woods that cradled them both — she kissed firmly and deeply, with all the dangers that implied, but the Recluse was more comfortable with the dangers of the forest than the dangers of civilization. They let her hold them, let her mouth explore their own, and let out a shaking sigh when she pulled back.
“Ah,” they said, eventually, eyes opening. The Witch was looking smugly up at them, eyes bright as gemstones in her face. Cautiously, they carded their fingers through her hair; it tangled like roots, curling around their fingers, bouncing back into perfect place around her face, and her smile grew wider. “Will you stay?” they asked, and the Witch tilted her head, considering their question.
“Yes,” she said at last, nodding decisively. “Will you repay me for my kiss, Recluse?”
It took them a moment to realize — she was teasing them. Not cruelly, no, but teasing all the same, and the Recluse felt a fragile smile touch their lips, as softly as the Witch had. In response, they bent their head, letting the Witch claim another kiss. “With interest,” they murmured against her lips, and felt her smile in return.