'Agatha Hazelbrook has lived herself a dog's age, kehehehehe, oh yes she has,' the hunched over, warty hag-matron mused to herself. Her mood shifted, as it usually did, in between strange shades of sullen and mirthful, that bade the old biddy to perform profane sacraments under bloated, pregnant full moons. Years of carefully prepared summonings, communions, and bloody sacrifices directed toward powerful lurkers on the other side of reality had granted the witchy old woman the knowledge and power to continue her wretched life, unnaturally. All it required, was that the bloated old spider-of-a-spinster pluck at one of her carefully-spun puppet-strings, firmly connected to an old fool of a monarch who owed her a Big debt. But her raven familiar had returned with an affirmation to her 'request' of the ignoble liege, and Agatha could barely contain her excitement as she hobbled around her dingy, messy hovel.
Hope was utterly terrified as she strode through the forbidding forest at whatever unearthly hour it had come to. A sick looking, yellow moon kept the strange, off-beat forest path illuminated before the slight elven maiden, who's long, pale legs were stiff and sore from the long walk from her impoverished homestead. The lord of the land, Sir Pencastle, had instructed her to journey, completely unaccompanied, to the notorious grizzled gorgon's hovel. The long-eared lass shuddered inwardly, as she mulled over the terrible rumors regarding the old maid, her reputation for providing risky abortions, tainted love spells, and expensive, deadly poisons. It was only by her innate bravery, and fear over how her large, extended family might be punished if she disobeyed, that the spindly elven woman found herself hesitantly stumbling through this dark, accursed forest, forward toward the hag's hut. When a series of wolf howls sounded, right behind the cold, exhausted elven woman, she whimpered in resignation, collapsing to the forest floor as she turned and looked.
She regretted looking, as a pack of massive, black-furred wolves rapidly bounded for the defenseless waif, who could not find the strength in her exhausted body to possibly outrun these ferocious beasts. Hope awaited the inevitable, as the soft padding, slavering beasts approached, but a queer feeling crept into the chilly night air. The moon seemed to glow strangely about her, as the wolf-pack stopped in their tracks, suddenly sniffing nervously. Suddenly, a bizarrely loud cackling sound could be heard, as if echoing from every tree and corner, as the wolves stumbled over the hoarfrost encrusted forest floor, bounding away from where she resignedly lay, yipping as if in terrible fear. Hope should of felt grateful for the deliverance, but something about the unnatural, unearthly sound, left her just as frightened as those hungry wolves. But somehow, the young elf found a reserve of strength, and continued onward.
Hope wished that she was hopelessly loss, far off from the witch's hut, but somehow she had found her way to the remote, creepy cabin, as if guided along by unnatural forces. The elf stood nervously before the uneven planks of Agatha Hazelbrook's hovel door, the wretched smell of the interior wafting out even at that distance in the cold night air, the lithe elf wrinkling her freckled nose in disgust. She pulled out the inconspicuous offering she was told to bring the witch, a large, shiny, red apple, gulped nervously, and attempted to rap on the door, before it suddenly swung inwards at her approach. A voice as creaky as the door's rusted hinges emerged from within "Ooooh? Kehehehe, is that a fresh little apple I smell? For meeeeeeeeeee?" the old voice trilled out mockingly, as Hope regretted every ounce of her earlier bravery, frozen in fear. "Come in, come in, please, it's so rare for a tired old women like me to get visitors!" came the ominous, cracking voice from within. Hope barely realized she had stooped down and crawled into the narrow hovel entrance, until she had already done so, confused at her own sudden, unnatural volition. The elf woman's spine tingled, as she suspected glamors or other subtle magics shimmering in the smokey, putrid air.
Hope nervously glanced all around with her big, green eyes, which began watering as the witch's cooking fire filled the dirty room with acrid smoke. Hope spied blasphemous, jagged talismans, jars full of pickled... things, rows of dried-out skinned bats, and other unfathomable magical sundries of a perverse and diabolical nature. It took several scans of her tear-filled eyes over the dimly illuminated hovel, before Hope made out the bundle of rags in the corner as the infamous Agatha. A fat cat jumped off her lap, and angrily waddled away next to Hope's leg, hissing and scratching her as it ran past, leaving a bright red mark on her perfect, pale calf "Kehehe, don't mind that old pussy, she's just a bit ornery is all. She doesn't like it when her big sister gets fed before her." Agatha cackled out, with a crazed, knowing smile, Hope nodding numbly in submissive affirmation at the strange statement. "Well then girlie, come over here with that nice, fresh little piece of fruit of yours..." the biddy said, grossly rubbing her arthritic, yellow-nailed fingers over a thick, brown wart sprouting off her left nostril.
Hope said a small prayer as she approached, the hoarse bequest catching in her throat, as she knelt low before Agatha, avoiding the sagging ceiling above where the witch reclined on a crude rocking chair. She held out the fresh apple, cold from the long walk up, as the witch's shaking spider-veined fingers clasped over the fruit lovingly. Hope's face wrinkled in disgust, as the hag gummed the apple open with toothless fury, a lewd squelching sound filling the claustrophobic cabin interior. Hope continued watching Agatha slowly consume the large apple in grotesque fashion, pulp and juice running down her flabby cheeks as she mashed the fruit in between her quivering, fuzzy lips. Agatha locked eyes with the poor little elf girl as she finished the fruit, casting the core into her smoldering fire, producing a sudden roar of embers, ash, and smoke as it landed. The burning apple core produced a strange, sweet scent in the cabin air, as Hope became helplessly light-headed, dreamily distant from her present circumstances as a lightness overtook her, her fear washing away as she inhaled the burning apple scent.
Hazelbrook bounded off her chair with unexpected spryness, closing in over Hope as the witch snapped her long, rough fingers in front of Hope's small, dainty nose. The sound was loud, dry, and brittle, but the elf girl's big green eyes barely fluttered in acknowledgement as the witch snapped her fingers a minute longer. "Kehehehehehe, got you now, don't I girlie? You like that sweet, pleasant smell? Are you ready to do whatever Auntie Agatha tells you to do, sweet little sparrow?" the biddy said, dancing an impromptu jig around the spaced-out elf girl, who did not react noticeably, except for murmuring out a dreamy-sounding "Yes Auntie Agatha, I will do whatever you tell me to do..." a thin line of drool escaping from between her cupid-bow lips. Agatha snapped her fingers once more in triumph 'damn I'm good!' the crone thought, cackling to herself for good measure, but still she wasn't convinced. A sly smile crept up her toothless, sticky lips, as she thought of another good way to test the depth of the enchantment's power. Agatha screwed up her eyes, and extended her will, summoning forth her snake familiar from whatever corner of her cabin it had slithered off too. The bright red-black coral snake slithered out of the shadow depths, up into Agatha's bony clutches, as the witch ceremoniously draped the slimy serpent over the elf girl's neck, like a wreath.
Agatha smiled, as her snake's tongue flickered against the elves milky-pale neck, blushed from the enchantment's effects, as the witch used her unnatural powers to compel the snake to slither down between the elven waif's small, perky, little tits, the sight of the scaled serpent slithering between her victim's healthy bosoms eliciting the witch to lick the drying, sticky apple juice from her lips. She had her, just how she wanted her. But this was a strange, dangerous, and unnatural ritual that Agatha was about to attempt to perform, and she needed the elf to stay still during the beginning, Mostly. "You ever kissed a girl before, little elf lass?" Agatha said, as she sauntered up close to the kneeling elf girl, who would of stood much taller than her. The elf dreamily intoned "Oh yes, I sneak off with Elizabeth whenever my parents fall asleep. We hide in the stable, and she teaches me how to be good wife to my future husband." Hope hazily finished, as Agatha raised an eyebrow, but deigned to inquire further, as she began preparing the ritual around the subdued girl.
Carving strange runes in the dirt floor of the hovel with salt and iron-shot, Agatha set about lighting candles at tactical points to harness the ethereal energies, to make sure none of her victim's life essence would escape the coming, debased ritual. Agatha's warty, fuzzy lips slapped and snarled out the black languages of nameless spirits, the candles either glowing brighter, or guttering in odd patterns, as the witch felt strange powers entering her old, haggard body. A burning, itching tingling spread deep into her musty old groin, which hadn't gotten up to much mischief in ages, except for her treasured coral snake. Hazelbrook cackled powerfully, as she realized the ritual was working, as she could feel an unexpected, distantly-remembered moistness creeping between her legs, as her snatch enlivened mystically. Finally, she spoke the name of the creature that would co-inhabit her body briefly, just long enough for the terrible deed to be done, "Pah-Ras! Pah-Ras! Hylo-ton! Hylo-ton! Inhabit my body, eat your fill, and grant me the bounty I seeeeeeeeeeeeak!" Agatha rasped out, the last word drawing from her throat like a death-rattle, as the witch's antique muscles twitched and writhed unnaturally, as she felt a grim presence enter her, her entire body buzzing as if covered in flies, until the disturbing sensation seemed to internalize and fill her blood. Slowly, Agatha could feel an incredible hunger enter her body, a hunger unlike any other.
Somehow, the witch knew, she could not feed this hunger with her mouth, oh no, this particular demon preferred inhabiting a different part of the witch's female anatomy. "Hope, oh dear sweet hope. Could you show your old, Auntie Agatha what it means, to be a good wife to your future husband? Come close dear, don't be ashamed..." the witch said, as she raised her robe high, revealing her hairy snatch, which twitched and wriggled unnaturally as she approached the submissively kneeling elf. Hope barely regarded the strange scene, as the witch woman's snarling snatch closely approached her placid, serene face, Agatha excitedly yelling out "Come on dearie! Give Auntie a big wet kiss!" as she spread her legs over Hope's sweet, innocent face.