When I was fourteen, my mother told me I was a witch. Ever since then she’s been teaching me everything she knows about magic and potion making. Well, I should have said she was teaching me until she died last year. Now I’m eighteen and alone, my father left us when I was too young to remember.

Most days I spend at home-or out in the woods gathering the strange ingredients used in everyday potions-but not today. It’s market day. Every Saturday I walk the three miles to the small village neither of my parents wanted anything to do with. And no wonder with my mother being a witch.

Today the walk seems shorter than usual. The sky is a bright, vibrant blue. The spring air still in between cool and hot.

When I reach the village, my booth, number 11, already has a customer waiting. A young woman in a pale green dress. I can see the desperation on her face even from a distance. She’ll be wanting a love potion.

Weaving through the crowd, I slip into my booth and start setting out my wares-tiny glass bottles in all different shapes. Healing potions-small flower shaped bottles. Strength potion-tiny human shaped bottles, etc.

Once everything is arranged, I finally look up at the girl. She’s a little younger than me. The desperation I’d seen earlier is still etched deep in her face.

“Hello.” I say to her. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have something that can make a person fall in love? She asks quietly, shy.

I smile at her gently. I hate to lie to people. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Her face twists in pain. “Please!” she begs, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m desperate. I’ll do anything!”

I’m not sure what makes me reconsider my choice, but I stare at the girl, my smile fading away. “Anything?”

She nods, and I sigh. “If you really are willing to do anything, come to my house tonight after the market has closed. I do have something I can do for you, but I’ll need you to understand it first. I’ll have to explain.”

So that was how I ended up with a stranger at my door later that night. Market had gone well and the sun had set two hours ago. I had just finished preparing for the girl when I heard the knock. I opened the door and beckoned her in. She glance this way and that, clearly intrigued. None of the villagers had ever dared to visit, least of all at night.

I lead her to the only place to sit in the small house, a small kitchen table cluttered with ingredients for various potions. I shoved a pile of white snakeroot into one of the bowls sitting on the counter.

“This potion you’re asking for, I need you to understand. For it to work, I must have a sliver of your heart.”

The girls eyes went wide. “M-my heart?”

I nod. “For the person receiving this potion to fall in love, they must know who to fall in love with. The only way for them to know, is if a piece of that person was included in the potion making. My mother was the one to discover that the heart works the best.”

Now the girl nods, as if she understands, but I know she doesn’t, not quite.

“But there is a side affect.” Now her face pales and she looks stricken.
“Cutting out a sliver of one’s heart is not something to take lightly. If a witch cuts too much, you could die. But no matter how much you take from their heart, they will never be the same. Even a sliver can change a person into something unrecognizable.”

The girls face is still pale, eyes still wide, but she’s nodding. “I understand.”

An hour later, I’ve prepared the potion, except for the girl’s contribution. ”Are your sure about this?” I ask her once more. She nods and sits on the ground. I crouch in front of her, the knife in hand.

She’s shaking now, but who can blame her? Even if it will make this harder. I touch the knife tip to her skin and press gently. Thick blood begins to flow almost instantly. She screams. I wish I’d said no.

A moment later, the potion is done. I’ve stopped the bleeding from the girl’s wound with a healing potion. I think she’s begun to regret this choice, her face is still twisted in pain. I bottle the potion in a small glass heart and hand it to her. “Put this in something they are going to drink. It will take a few hours to work, but after that, the effect is permanent.”

“Thank you.” She turns and walks out the door. The moon is now high over the sky, lighting the path to the village. I never saw the girl again, but her desperation is no longer a mystery. Rumor says she’s been murdered by her boyfriend.