Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins

On the whole I am inclined to think that a witch should not kiss. Perhaps it is the not being kissed that makes her a witch; perhaps the source of her power is the breath of loneliness around her. She who takes a kiss can also die of it, can wake into something unimaginable, having turned herself into some new species.

Once there was a stranger who half smiled as he told me the worst thing he had done in his life, and then something worse than that, and then something even worse. I let him talk all night; I never said a word of judgment. His eyes flickered on my face as he talked, as if searching for something. The sky lightened and I…

But I was coming to realize that my predicament was not unique. At the balls he took me to there were many beautiful young women who didn't say a word. They answered every question with a shrug or a smile. If champagne got spilt down their dresses they only sighed; when the full moon slid out from behind the castle they…

'What's wrong with you, girl, that you would make yourself over again?' 'Everything.' 'Change for your own sake , if you must, not for what you imagine another will ask of you.'

The witch yawned, bearing a few black teeth. Tell me now, what would you do for him? I stopped to think. If he was drowning, I said slowly, I suppose I'd jump in the sea to save him. I'd forget father and mother and sisters for his sake. I'd . . I'd weave nettles with my bare hands. Not particularly useful in this case.…

See this leaf, little girl, blackened under the snow? It has died so it will be born again on the branch in springtime. Once I was a stupid girl; now I am an angry woman. Sometimes you must shed your skin to save it.