By: R.A. Johnson.

Mogrin smiled as she tucked the phial in her bodice.

“Anyone who drinks this will fall in love with me?”

The witch, Wilifred, nodded. “And only me?” Another nod. “Good. How long until the next batch is ready?”

“Why so much?” Wilifred asked. “The tiniest drop is enough to make your prospective lover swoon.”

“Lover?” Mogrin scoffed. “I’m running for mayor. And losing.”

She looked at the bent old woman, her eyes settling on the crooked nose with its prominent wart. Disgust was obvious on her face.

In a cruel voice, she said, “Just don’t drink from the town well.”

© 2025. R.A. Johnson

R.A. (Rob) Johnson is a pan-genrist author who writes across all genres and lengths from drabbles (100 words) to novels. Find him at www.rajohnsonauthor.com.

Posted February 12, 2025