Tell me a story please.
The greatest witch in history made the mistake of sharing her secrets. And her secrets were both magic and important, so it was a rather serious mistake.
She told them to a man. He was young and clever and handsome. Because if the man had not been handsome and clever, he would have been easier to resist, and then there would be no story at all.
The witch was old and quite clever herself, of course, and she had gone a very, very long time without telling her secrets to anyone at all. Maybe over the years she had forgotten about the importance of keeping them, or maybe she was distracted by his youth or beauty or cleverness. Maybe she was just tired, or maybe she had too much wine and didn't realize what she was doing. Whatever the circumstances, she told her deepest secrets to the man, the hidden keys to all her magic.
And when the secrets had passed from witch to man, they lost bits of their power, the way cats lose bits of fur when you pet them thoroughly. But they were still potent and effective and magical, and the man used them against the witch. He tricked her so that he could take her secrets and make them his own. He did not particularly care about keeping them; he probably wrote them down somewhere as well.
The witch herself he trapped in a huge oak tree. And the magic he used to do so was strong, since it was the witch's own magic, ancient and powerful, and she could not undo it.
He left her there, and she could not be rescued since no one else knew she was inside the tree. She was not dead, though. The man might have killed her if he could, after he had coerced her secrets out of her, but he could not kill her with her own magic. Though maybe he didn't want to at all. He was more concerned with power than with her, but he might have cared about her a little, enough to want to leave her with her life, in a way. He settled for trapping her, and to his mind it served the same purpose.
Though really he did not succeed quite as well as he liked to think. He was careless in keeping his new magic secret. He flaunted it, and generally did not take very good care of it. Its power faded eventually, and so did he.
The witch, on the other hand, became part of the tree. And the tree thrived and grew, its branches spreading up to the sky and its roots reaching farther into the earth. She was part of the leaves and the bark and the sap, and part of the acorns that were carried away by squirrels to become new oak trees in other places. And when those trees grew, she was in those branches and leaves and roots as well.
So by losing her secrets, the witch gained immortality. Her tree stood long after the clever young man was old and no longer handsome, and in a way she become greater and stronger than she had ever been before. Though if she were given the chance to do it all over again, she likely would have been more careful with her secrets.
She told them to a man. He was young and clever and handsome. Because if the man had not been handsome and clever, he would have been easier to resist, and then there would be no story at all.
The witch was old and quite clever herself, of course, and she had gone a very, very long time without telling her secrets to anyone at all. Maybe over the years she had forgotten about the importance of keeping them, or maybe she was distracted by his youth or beauty or cleverness. Maybe she was just tired, or maybe she had too much wine and didn't realize what she was doing. Whatever the circumstances, she told her deepest secrets to the man, the hidden keys to all her magic.
And when the secrets had passed from witch to man, they lost bits of their power, the way cats lose bits of fur when you pet them thoroughly. But they were still potent and effective and magical, and the man used them against the witch. He tricked her so that he could take her secrets and make them his own. He did not particularly care about keeping them; he probably wrote them down somewhere as well.
The witch herself he trapped in a huge oak tree. And the magic he used to do so was strong, since it was the witch's own magic, ancient and powerful, and she could not undo it.
He left her there, and she could not be rescued since no one else knew she was inside the tree. She was not dead, though. The man might have killed her if he could, after he had coerced her secrets out of her, but he could not kill her with her own magic. Though maybe he didn't want to at all. He was more concerned with power than with her, but he might have cared about her a little, enough to want to leave her with her life, in a way. He settled for trapping her, and to his mind it served the same purpose.
Though really he did not succeed quite as well as he liked to think. He was careless in keeping his new magic secret. He flaunted it, and generally did not take very good care of it. Its power faded eventually, and so did he.
The witch, on the other hand, became part of the tree. And the tree thrived and grew, its branches spreading up to the sky and its roots reaching farther into the earth. She was part of the leaves and the bark and the sap, and part of the acorns that were carried away by squirrels to become new oak trees in other places. And when those trees grew, she was in those branches and leaves and roots as well.
So by losing her secrets, the witch gained immortality. Her tree stood long after the clever young man was old and no longer handsome, and in a way she become greater and stronger than she had ever been before. Though if she were given the chance to do it all over again, she likely would have been more careful with her secrets.