#stctera

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋, almost too whimsical, and rather predictable for the witch's ears to perk to the sound of such delicacies. the smell of heighten fantasy cajoling down to her lower abdomen, where if you were quiet enough, one can hear the subtle gargling inside her intestines. [ in truth : it was indeed pitiful for her body to behave in such a matter. ] hunger forever scarring her to the pit of terror. she has known starvation far more than the intimacy of demise. memories of a young girl pathetically begging for food, only to be ridiculed as she was pelted with rocks, dirt, and muddled ashes. she vowed to never fall so low, and has since dined with nobles, lords, and kings. the witch knew the joys of luxury and tasted the ambrosia of privilege and wealth.

yet it was always temporary.

her hunger has long since understood her indulgence. the finest silk and wine will never last her, neither shall the highest grade of meat and dairy. pizza, however, was a peasant's dish. regardless if she was treated like an empress' most precious guest or if she fell into hiding, this deep fried bread became her constant in this long pathetic life. the grey witch shall never have a home, but at the very least : she has this. yes, this was the only joy she has left as pitiful and miserable as it was.