Red are her fingers, nails like splinters of wood. She gazes upon the body of her fallen foe: one less angel free to torment her home. She wonders, Why did they come? Clean bodied monsters, blinking from a thousand eyes, winged destroyers made from some primordial mold. Whatever the reason, they won’t find her town like the cities of old, ripe for culling at some jealous god’s whim. She’s made the deals she needs to make, she’s forged her broom in motherhood, and her crown is a sacrifice of thorns. “Witch” means “protector” to a people who are damned.
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