I have a friend who is a witch. Her face is of white chocolate and
her cape and hat of dark, mixing the sinfully low in nutritional value and the
densely full of flavonoids and antioxidants.
I decided to go out for a walk with Minerva, as I decided to call
her, in the palm of my hand, switching her from one to the other when they
started to get sweaty, enjoying the moment to lick up her remains, as if
cleaning up the mess she had created with her potions.
After hours in the sun, however, there was nothing left of her
except a small dark circle on my left palm, as if she had finally perfected her
disappearing spell and left only a small puddle where she had once been.
When I got home I had a look
in my chocolate box to decide who I’d be taking out the next day, and decided
on a milky brown prince, thinking that maybe he would be a gentleman and wouldn’t
leave me by the end of the day.
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