I cried when Grandmother strangled the baby. I sobbed when I had to cook and season its body. Grandmother insisted it was an essential part of my witch education. The baby potion would keep Grandmother from aging.
My pleas for them to take my sister’s boy fell on deaf ears; my son had been chosen. Grandmother thinks I’m weak and sentimental, so she underestimated me.
I poisoned the spell. She’ll be as dead as the baby soon. Then I will have to deal with my sister. She is going to be livid when she finds out I switched the babies.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="136694 by S.F.J. Painter"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>