55. Playing the Odds
Thinking it better to increase her own odds, Rosella decided that even two witches were better than all three. So she
temptingly backed away from the trio hoping that one of them might follow her out into the open. It was a risky gamble,
but it was all she could think of and as she took her small backward steps careful not to tumble into the boiling cauldron.
Predictably one of the witches stepped out of line, drawn by the perfume scent of the young girl. “Come back,” she
cooed with blind eyeless sockets. Her bony withered arms reached out before her as she took measured steps with
surprising speed. Rosella’s heart sank a little at this revelation. It seemed the witches knew their own cave fairly well. It
shouldn’t have been that surprising. It was their home after all.
Keeping a close eye on the witch in pursuit, Rosella carefully made her way around the boiling cauldron, sure to keep it
between the following witch and herself. She should have just enough time to get around the pot, rush over to the
remaining two witches, snatch the eye from between them, and get safely away from them. Focusing all her attention on
the pursuing witch, Rosella waited impatiently for her moment to arrive and when the witch came around the far side of
the cauldron she dashed toward the other witches.
Rosella’s idea and its execution were two completely different matters. It was a good idea to lure a witch away and
increase her odds, but she spent so much time focusing on the lone witch, that she failed to pay close attention to the
other two. She hadn’t spent the time studying the way they passed the eye to see the moment of opportunity in which to
intercept. By the time she was standing right there, the adrenaline of giving chase was so high that she was borderline
spastic with energy. Rosella was a young girl in peril, an adventurer in the thick of danger. But she was too naïve for
this level of operation. She didn’t have the experience or the reaction of a great adventurer… like her father. And that
cloudy thought was her undoing. Rosella reached forth without thinking, and instead of the glass eye, she found a
withered gray hand clamp around her slender white wrist with a surprisingly crushing strength! “Oh dear!” she gasped
as she realized her folly, but it was too late. With a toothy grin the witch stood up tall and grasped the surprised
princess into a great bear hug. Rosella kicked and squirmed as the witch crushed the very air from her lungs but to no
avail. The witch’s grasp held her firm in place while the witch in pursuit returned for their catch. The helpless young girl
was handed off to the returning witch, held tightly around her waist from behind. “No, let me go! Stop! Put me down!
What are you doing!?” she spat forth every terrified thought that came to her helpless little mind while she kicked her
legs so hard that her heels flung from her tiny feet. None of it did any good. The witch carried her newly trussed little
friend toward the boiling green waters of the stew pot. The horrible realization was enough to seize Rosella’s stomach
into her throat right behind her terrified screams as she kick and flailed with all that she had left in her little body. When
the poor princess realized she couldn’t break the iron grip of the magical hag, she tucked her long legs in, desperate to
avoid the cauldron’s boiling waters as long as possible. As she felt the wicked witch begin to lower her down, she
planted her stocking clad feet on the edge of the pot, fighting her fate. Her efforts alas were weak and short lived. The
rim of the cauldron was scalding against the thin sheer stockings covering Rosella’s poor feet. She yelped in pain,
trying to keep them in position even as they were sliding off from the force of the witch pushing her down. In mere
seconds the scathing hot metal melted the nylon from the bottoms of her little feet, and princess Rosella slid into the
boiling waters, steeped up to her armpits in stew. Arms over her head, she thrashed about for several seconds before
succumbing to the doomed dinner date. Her final thought was “if only she had been as good an adventurer as her
father she could have avoided such an untimely end!”
The next morning, the sun had rose on Tamir and inside the skull cave, the wrought iron black cauldron was tipped on
its side, a large damp spot on the earth where it had been drained. Fading red embers glowed ever so slightly,
remainders from the night before. A skinny pair of white pantyhose lay over the side of the fat black cauldron. The
gauzy fabric was still damp, laid out to dry against the still sizzling iron cauldron. The beautiful vermilion gown of the
noticeably absent young princess was adorning one of the three hags, a description I will spare you from. Where was
Rosella? Perhaps she went back to try from the beginning…
-The End
Try Again?