The thoughts and inner feelings of the old witch as new students come to call. Someone to pass their knowledge to, and, perhaps, a new, young apprentice here to take their place when old age finally takes its dues?
@internutter/challenge-03335-i047-accepting-the-price -- Anon Guest
Varicelle had taken an overdose in her elder years, and had been looking for cures for old age for millennia. Alas, every fountain of youth had its price. A price too severe for an old witch already cursed with immortality.
There were cures for immortality, but they generally involved decapitation.
Now there were two Elven sorts in her periphery. One fellow immortal and one sad fellow wishing he was. The less said about the Orc and the Bugbear, the better. Both were diligent workers, but only Wraithvine worked as if ze had all the time in the world.
Wraithvine may even be there by the bedside of the last intelligent being at the end of all life. Now that was a curse.
Scum, still looking for a better name for himself, was humming and singing as he worked. He didn't look forty, he said, but he certainly felt it.
"If I could save time in a bottle..." he chopped herbs with nervous precision. Not fast, but dedicated to do it right. "The first thing that I'd like to do/ Is to save ev'ry day/'till eternity passes away, just to spend them with..." he trailed off, "Wraithvine? What do immortals want most?"
"On the good days - company. On the bad ones? Death."
Varicelle nodded and cackled at that. "Too true. It kicks in long about the third time you bury someone you saw born. Specially when they die of old age."
Chop, chop, chop, chop... "Honoured teacher, you can reverse old age. Why do you choose to be old?"
"When I gift you your century, you'll find out," she said, working on setting up a distillation. "The potion does make your body younger, and the more you take the more you need. I was a vain thing, once. A beauty. And then I took too much and... It stopped working. Just as I gained immortality, I gained it as an old, bent crone."
"Beware vainglory," said Wraithvine. "It's what gets most of us into being immortals at all."
Wraithvine had put hir hand to an immortal's heart and made a vainglorious vow. Ego had made hir Wraithvine the Eternal, and the years weighed hir under ever since. Ze had witnessed Empires rise and fall.
"What will you do with your time, prentice?" said Varicelle. "I've yet to gift you and you've yet to give a whole answer."
Scum hummed another refrain of his song. "If I run a scam, I'd run it on rich people with no care for those under them. I think... what I want most out of this world is honest love. A happy life."
"Does that rule out an immortal one?" asked Varicelle.
"It might. I'll tell you when my century is done."
He gained the name Prentice, which suited him fine. In a year and a day, he ran every errand that Varicelle sent him on. No complaints, just doing his best. He saw to everyone in the village, but made certain of their needs rather than their wants.
By the end of the Faerie Time, he was sweet on the miller's daughter, and content with just a century.
"He will do well," said Wraithvine. "There is time enough for him."
"Too much for us," grumbled Varicelle. She handed the Elf a small vial. "You know how to dilute this for your needs. Best of luck to you."
"I will keep working on what you need," Wraithvine promised.
"I have the time to wait. Come around once a century or so. We can catch up. Have tea."
"I will make the effort."
Neither of them said goodbye. It's the one word immortals hate to utter.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / foreverleestock]
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