By night she sat alone in the bar, tapping each of her trimmed nails against the countertop, signaling the bartender for another drink. With four whiskey glasses down, the widow was dizzy with withdrawal, unable to have any other meal but the raven. She starved herself, her youthful complexion dripping away with dark circles and wrinkles. Unable to break herself from yearning for that gentle girl, she kept close to the entrance, searching the bar when the door would creak open, snapping up only to sigh when it wasn’t her meal. Just as she was about to give up for the night, she stood to stretch her aching bones and her eyes fell upon the raven. Dressed like a doll in thin lace loose around her waist she glided over to the widow. Amber eyes flutter within thin lashes exposing the juvenescence she brought into the room. Of course, the widow was paralyzed after not seeing the woman for more than a few weeks, giving up hope only for it to be brought back up when her meal returned. The little raven took to the stool beside the widow, silently playing with her long hair pretending she wasn’t there. After a moment of silence between the two, the raven spoke.
“Would you care for a drink?” She tilted her head to the side, letting her hair cascade down the white silk dress. Her pale fingers slid along the ruffles curving over her chest never leaving the witches eyes. With no answer from the witch, she spoke again, softer and smoother off the tongue.
“Would you care for a drink? I’m not very fond of drinking alone at night.”
Swallowing down the knot in her throat the widow sat again, hesitant at first to move thinking this was an illusion. But she took her hand across the counter to take the raven’s delicate hand, pressing against her cold skin. Parting her lips, she whispered her answer, turning to the bartender for another round. Once more the raven told her story, at first it was short and held no meaning but the more they drank the easier it was for the two to speak. She told the widow of her hometown, the travel to the city, and the urge to see her. The last part sparked her interest, the raven wanted to see her but for what? Sipping away at the glasses lined up, the widow spun before collapsing into the woman’s arms, holding tightly in the cold embrace until she was completely unconscious.
***
Something warm dripped onto her skin, waking the widow from her sleep and scrunching up her already wrinkled skin. Her eyes opened to darkness. Barely able to focus on her surroundings, she tugged on something binding her hands behind her back. Continuing to drip away at the makeup she wore, the widow turns on her back to see where it was coming from. Squinting hard at a face which looked back down at her, the leak came from a thick gash on their neck, blood splashing against the widow’s cheek. She screamed as a door opened and the silhouette of a woman in a dress steps down towards her. As the door shut and the woman flicked on the lights, a collection of women hang from hooks in a cellar the widow was held in. Not exactly women but witches like the widow herself, ones that seduce and eat innocent meals who happen to stumble into their webs. They hang like dried meat ready to be cooked, as the little raven takes her final step and walks over to the widow.
“Aren’t they beautiful, witches who never age but can die when their hearts are taken out.” The angelic tone of her voice had become serious, the innocence crumbled away as she spoke of the witch’s fairytale.
The widow could do nothing but lay in a pile of blood, unable to take her eyes off the monstrosity that stood above her and the collection she kept behind her. Witches with chest cavities open or throats gashed and carved out, all by the hands of such a fragile looking woman. When she asked why she did this, the raven only laughed. Rolling the widow on her back with her face pressed into the bloody floor.
“I did this for my sister, who was taken by your kind and left in a ditch with her heart out. I wanted to return the favor and take out theirs, just like I will be taking out yours.”