The Stew

“Well, she did leave Lawrence. This past year has been rough. Even coming out with us every now and then isn’t going to make her forget about her husband,” said Bernice. Trudy nodded in agreement.

The two women milled about the kitchen, sharing their thoughts on their friends’ lives and laughing about their own. The stove was set to a low heat, a pot simmering above the flame.

“Well, even so, I’m not too sure how a stew is going to make her feel better,” said Trudy. “Even if you’re using your secret recipe. No stew I’ve ever had could help me get over heartbreak like that.”

“Oh, ye of little faith, Tru. This is my secret secret recipe.”

Trudy’s eyebrow raised, elevating with her scepticism. “And what is your secret ingredient? Souls?”

“No,” laughed Bernice. Then she paused, reconsidering. “OK, yes, but not just any soul.”

“You didn’t,” scoffed Trudy.

Bernice smiled fiendishly and opened the cupboard. She withdrew a tiny bottle of purple granules and gave it a shake. It rattled and gave off a small yelp.

“The right spice makes everything nice,” Bernice purred. The two witches laughed and stirred the pot.


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