Hagitha Mysticbottom's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Hagitha Mysticbottom wanted to eat a prince. Not just any prince. The kingdom's beloved one, the handsome fool every girl sighed over. She planned to wear her maiden face, lure him into the reeds, and swallow him whole. But first she had a smaller problem crashing through her swamp. A hunter. He had wandered too deep, boots sucking in the black mud, crossbow raised at every shadow. Hagitha watched him from her shack, the one that stood on two enormous chicken legs. He had seen her drying racks. He had seen the bones. If he reached the tree line, he would run straight to the kingdom and scream about a hag. Then no prince would ever come close enough to kiss. "He talks, I starve," she muttered. Her raven landed on the window sill. Three eyes, all watching. It tilted its head toward the hunter, then toward the deeper swamp, where the water turned to rot. "Yes," Hagitha said. "We don't chase him out. We pull him in." She climbed down the ladder and splashed into the muck. Her ugly shape melted away. Green skin smoothed to pink. Warts shrank. A beautiful maiden rose from the mud, gown clinging, hair dark and wet. She hid the real trick behind a mangrove. It was a carved figure she kept for this. A man's face, mouth stretched in a scream, hands clawing the air, begging. From a distance it looked like a drowning stranger, half sunk and desperate. She propped it deep in the bog, past the quicksand she knew by heart. Then the maiden stumbled into the hunter's path. "Please," she cried. "My brother! He fell in the water. He's still screaming. Hurry!" The hunter lowered his crossbow. He saw a trembling girl. Behind her, in the gloom, he saw the clawing figure and heard what sounded like a man choking. His face softened. His hunter's caution drained out of him. "Where?" he said. "There!" She pointed past the mangrove. "Quick, he's sinking!" The hunter ran. The maiden walked light behind him, stepping only where the ground held. He charged toward the screaming figure and plunged in up to his knees. Then his waist. The mud gripped him and did not let go. "Help me," he gasped, twisting back toward the girl. Hagitha let her true face return. Green. Grinning. The hunter screamed for real now, but the swamp ate the sound. He went under slow. The raven flew down and perched on the clawing figure, watching with all three eyes until the bubbles stopped. Hagitha dragged his crossbow and satchel to her drying racks. Inside the satchel she found a folded letter, stamped with the royal seal. Her claw tore it open. The prince was coming. A hunt, the letter said. Three days from now, right at the swamp's edge. Hagitha smiled wide. Her supper was walking to her.