Hopeless Desire of a Witch

Of course, an eye color like the blue sky without any clouds was also nice. And it would be better if it was a color infused with silk.

Irene looked down at the baby named Eirene, hoping that she would not wake up, because she was afraid the baby might cry.

In the meantime, various worries swirled in her mind. When the baby wakes up, she should feed her, but she can’t produce milk, so she should go to the village.

However, when a woman who lived alone on the outskirts of the village suddenly appeared, even if she was a woman who was never hungry, it was certain the village would be shaken up.

Aunt Zelda, who bake delicious *baguettes, may be happy to breastfeed her since she just recently gave birth to a baby.

(baguettes is a  french bread.)

Instead of that, Irene might become a friend of Aunt Zeld, whom she had been avoiding so far.

Aside from the fact that Aunt Zelda wasn’t willing to listen to the rumors of Irene being a witch, Aunt Zelda wasn’t a bad person. Considering that witches want someone to be avoided, but rather, she was a responsible adult who was helping a woman living alone. However, the problem about Aunt Zelda was her enthusiasm when it came to gossiping to the neighborhood. She would even tell around the number of eggs produced by the Siamese chicken, a few houses across.

Irene was weighing the pros and cons of being Aunt Zelda’s friend for the sake of this unfamiliar baby, and the stamina, patience, vocabulary, and concentration required to deal with Aunt Zelda.

I turned my gaze away from the baby. The scale, which had been in tense confrontation over her sacrifice or the baby, slowly titled.

Wouldn’t it be enough to just use other means and methods?

…

“Sister, you should get up.”

“Go away…I want to sleep more…”

Because I sleep a lot, it was always a pain to wake up in the morning. Irene, who was covered by a blanket all the way from her head and was curled up, was caught by her hair. The assailant, who just found a bundle of hair that was not covered by the blanket, grabbed them and pulled them with her hand like a fern.

“Get up.”

“Ugh!”

It hurt so much that tears flowed out, then she turned to see the assailaint’s hand to see where such strength came from. Sure enough, a few strands of her hair have been pulled out.

The assailant now grabbed her black hair with both hands and pulled them. Just to get Irene, who was trying to become a caterpillar, out of her blanket, this much effort was needed. The hand that was pulling her hair moved slowly, spreading out her ten fingers and grabbed Irene’s head.

“Come on. Get up, get up…” With those two little hands, anyway, no matter how many hands they use, Irene’s head can’t be pulled out like a radish from the blanket.