The Witch's Brew: Dark Forest Sacrifice

Table of Contents

Mysterious Witch’s Potion and a Brother’s Curse

The fog rolled thick across the old village road, curling around the crooked trees and whispering secrets no one dared to listen to. Deep in the forest, hidden behind a veil of moonlight, stood an ancient cottage. Smoke rose from its crooked chimney, carrying the scent of something earthy, something unfamiliar—something magical. To most villagers, that scent was a warning, a sign to turn back. But to those desperate enough, it was a beacon of hope—an unspoken promise that magic, though dangerous, could change fate itself.

Inside, a woman in a tattered black cloak stirred a cauldron, humming a tune that echoed off the stone walls. Her eyes gleamed like molten gold beneath the flickering candlelight. She was known only as Marwen—the witch of Eldergrove. Tales of her powers were whispered across the village: how she once healed a child who’d been struck by lightning, how she cursed a greedy merchant whose lies turned to ash on his tongue, how she spoke to ravens and dreamed in prophecy. None could say which stories were true, for few had ever met her and lived to tell the tale.

“Double, double, secrets deep, in my brew, the truth shall seep,” she whispered, her voice laced with a strange melody. The potion inside shimmered, colors swirling like storm clouds. With a wave of her hand, sparks danced in the air, illuminating a book spread open beside her—a grimoire bound in dark leather, older than any human alive.

She wasn’t making a potion for herself. She was waiting. Someone had come to her door just before the moon rose, desperate, trembling, eyes red with grief. That someone was Elric, a young man from the village below, whose sister had fallen into a mysterious sleep three nights ago and hadn’t woken since. Her body was alive, her heart steady, but her spirit had vanished, trapped somewhere unseen. The healers called it “the still slumber,” but none knew the cure.

The knock came again—three slow taps that echoed through the woods like a heartbeat.

Marwen’s lips curled into a faint smile. “He returns. The boy with a promise on his breath.”

She opened the door. Elric stood there, clutching a bundle of dried flowers and herbs in shaking hands, his boots soaked with dew. His eyes were wild with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept since his sister’s fall.

“You brought them,” she said, her voice soft but firm, the tone of one who expected obedience.

“Just as you asked,” he replied, stepping inside, eyes darting around the strange room filled with bubbling vials, shelves of bones, and jars containing things that seemed to move on their own. “Please—tell me this will work. Tell me she’ll wake up.”

“Magic demands patience, boy,” Marwen said. “And payment. You must understand that every spell requires something in return. Even hope has its price.”

Elric nodded, though his throat tightened. “I’ll pay whatever price you ask. Just bring her back.”

Marwen studied him, her golden eyes unblinking. “We shall see if you mean that.”

She took the herbs from him and dropped them into the brew. A sharp hiss filled the room as steam rose in twisting patterns. The colors inside turned a deep violet, glowing faintly. The air grew colder, heavier. Elric felt his breath catch as shadows along the walls seemed to move.

“What... what is that smell?” he asked, stepping back as a metallic tang filled the air.

“Truth,” Marwen said simply. “It has a scent, once you know it. Bitter. Honest.”

Elric frowned. “Truth?”

“The potion reveals what has been hidden,” she explained. “Sometimes it heals. Sometimes it harms. Sometimes, it does both.”

He didn’t understand, not yet. He only wanted his sister back.

Marwen gestured toward the table. “Place a strand of her hair here.”

Elric pulled a small locket from around his neck and opened it, carefully removing a golden strand. He laid it beside the cauldron, his hands trembling. The locket had belonged to their mother, now gone, and holding it brought a sting of sorrow to his chest.

Marwen dipped her fingers into the potion and whispered words in a language older than time itself. The air shimmered, and Elric saw something forming above the cauldron—a faint image, blurry at first, then sharper: a girl lying in her bed, motionless, her face pale.

“That’s her!” he gasped. “That’s Lila!”

Marwen nodded. “But look closer.”

The image shifted, revealing a faint shadow hovering near the girl’s heart. It pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat, but darker—hungrier.

“What is that?” Elric asked, voice shaking.

“The curse,” Marwen said. “And the one who placed it.”

Her tone grew sharp, her gaze piercing. “You must tell me the truth, boy. What did you do before your sister fell ill?”

Elric stiffened. “Nothing! I swear it! I—I only wanted to help her. She was sick, and the healer said there was no cure. So I went to the river and wished under the old willow tree, like the stories say. I begged for her life.”

Marwen’s face darkened. “The willow is bound to old magic. You called something to you that night.”

Elric’s heart pounded. “Something?”

“A spirit of the grove,” she said. “They grant wishes, yes—but always at a cost.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t ask for anything except to save her!”

Marwen sighed. “And now you must pay the price you did not understand.”

He stepped back. “No... there must be another way!”

She turned back to the cauldron. “There is. But it is not without danger. The potion can draw the curse from her and bind it elsewhere—but it needs a vessel.”

“A vessel?”

“Someone must take it willingly,” she said. “Someone whose heart beats for her.”

Elric’s voice faltered. “You mean... me.”

“Would you not trade your life for hers?”

He stared into the swirling brew, his reflection warped by the light. He thought of his sister’s laughter, the way she used to chase fireflies in the meadow, how she’d cry when storms frightened her and cling to his arm until she fell asleep. He thought of the silence that now filled their home. He nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

Marwen’s expression softened—almost sad. “Then the pact is made.”

She drew a silver dagger from her belt and sliced her palm, letting a drop of blood fall into the brew. It hissed, turning black. “Now yours,” she said.

Elric hesitated, then cut his hand and let his blood fall. The cauldron erupted in light, a blinding flash that filled the room. The walls trembled. The candles flickered out. In the sudden darkness, voices whispered—hundreds of them, all speaking in unison, all calling his name.

When the light faded, Elric was on his knees, gasping. Marwen knelt beside him. “It is done.”

He looked up. “Lila... is she—”

Marwen raised her hand, and the image above the cauldron shimmered. Lila stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She sat up, looking around in confusion. “Elric?”

He smiled weakly. “She’s awake...”

But his body felt heavy, cold. The shadow that had hovered over Lila now clung to him, coiling around his heart. He could feel it whispering in his ear, words he didn’t understand, promises of power and ruin. His vision blurred, the edges of the world bending as if reality itself was shifting around him.

Marwen’s eyes glowed faintly. “The curse is bound to you now. You will carry it until it finds peace.”

“Will I... die?” he asked, voice trembling.

She shook her head. “No. You will live, but not as you were. You are marked by the forest now. You will walk between worlds—neither man nor spirit.”

Elric shuddered. “I don’t understand.”

“In time, you will. The willow does not curse without purpose. Perhaps there is something you must learn.”

He looked down, his reflection in the black brew showing eyes that shimmered faintly with green light. “What... what am I now?”

“A guardian,” she said softly. “Bound by love. Shaped by sacrifice.”

Elric rose unsteadily. “I should go to her.”

Marwen nodded. “Go. But remember this—magic does not end when the spell is cast. It lingers, waiting, watching. What you have taken into yourself will change you. Do not let it consume you.”

He turned toward the door, pausing only once to look back. “Why did you help me?”

Marwen smiled faintly. “Because once, long ago, I made a wish under that same willow tree.”

Elric blinked—but before he could speak, the door closed behind him, leaving the witch alone once more in the flickering candlelight. She turned to the cauldron, now dark and still, and whispered to herself, “And I am still paying the price.”

Outside, the fog parted for a moment, revealing the twisted shape of the old willow, its branches reaching toward the stars. A faint whisper drifted through the night, neither cruel nor kind—merely ancient.

As Elric walked the forest path, the world felt strange. The air hummed. The trees seemed to lean closer, their leaves rustling in voices he could almost understand. When he looked down at his hands, faint green lines glowed beneath his skin, pulsing softly like veins of light. He knew then that his life was no longer his own. Yet for the first time in days, his heart felt steady. His sister was safe. That was enough.

Back in the cottage, Marwen closed her grimoire and gazed into the empty cauldron. The scent of the brew still lingered, bittersweet and heavy. She reached for a small wooden box on her shelf and opened it, revealing a silver ring shaped like intertwined branches. She touched it gently, eyes distant.

“You were the first,” she whispered. “And I could not save you.”

Outside, a raven cawed from the windowsill. Marwen turned her head, her golden eyes narrowing. “The circle turns again,” she murmured. “The forest remembers.”

Far away, in a quiet cottage on the edge of the village, Lila awoke fully, the first rays of dawn brushing her face. She smiled weakly at the sight of her brother standing in the doorway. “Elric? You’re back...”

He nodded, voice soft. “You’re safe now.”

But as she reached out to touch him, her hand hesitated. His skin was cool, and his eyes—once brown—now shimmered like forest light. Something in them seemed... ancient.

“Brother... what happened?”

He smiled faintly, though there was sorrow in it. “A wish. And a promise.”

In the forest, the willow swayed though there was no wind. Its roots stirred, its whispers curling through the air like smoke. The forest had gained a guardian, and the witch’s brew had claimed another soul. Somewhere, in the balance between life and death, fate turned its wheel once more.

And beneath the old willow, a single drop of dark potion fell into the soil, vanishing without a trace, waiting for the next desperate heart to find it.