Daily Drabble no.3 – Fond Memories

Agnes Bernauer; a witch

Her mother’s hands were always cool.

True healer’s hands, they cradled feverish foreheads and soothed flushed cheeks. Agnes remembers tripping over the clumsy back step at three; the smarting pain and the blooming bruise bleeding onto her pink skin like a blot of purple-ing ink. Her mother was the only one who could quell the hiccuping, red-nose tears with her honey drenched words. One cool kiss to the wobbly-rosy smile would send Agnes off on her merry way, toddling precariously near to nettle-thickets and thorn-forests.

Always, standing like a sentry in the doorway, her mother would be in her sights.

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