Witch's cottage

The table in her kitchen made the house somewhat atmospheric. It was an old square table, that she had bought from a second-hand furniture outlet. Dark wood, and a drawer for cutlery.
She lit candles every Friday according to the ancient tradition, and was a veggy. It was warm during summers, cold during winters. She loved the summers because of the garden parties in her back-garden, and because the kitchen garden would be in full bloom, but adored the winters because of the crackle of the wood in the fire-place.
Charlotte had returned from her studies abroad, and had rented the place. It was off the beaten track. Charlotte was black, slim and tall. She had worn little plaits with colourful pearls when she was a girl, but preferred to wear her hair short these days.
She was an artist, quite a successful one at that, and had sold numerous works. She had a sound knowledge for marketing her art, and was well-connected.
Her books were stacked on the beams of her kitchen. She had a spare bedroom, that she kept neat and tidy. The bed-linen was bright and cheerful.
Sometimes she would feel lonely. No wonder. The cottage was situated in a forest, and at times during the night the noises coming in from the outside were a bit scary. Once she had seen a herd of wild boars during the night when looking out of the little window in the light of the crescent-shaped moon. The fog scared her too at times, especially after she watched a thriller at night.
Charlotte had a cat. Her name was Charly; she was a ginger breed. She would keep her company, when preparing paints and canvas and would smooch round her bare legs as she painted. Sometimes Gerd would come round. Gerd lived in the nearby village. He was a farmer, and was more than just fond of the two C’s, as he lovingly called them. He would bring a potato-salad, out of a veggy cook-book called ‘The Versatile Potatoe’, a bottle of wine, and they would sit down on the bench just outside the cottage and have a natter about the going-ons in local politics, and the latest scandal that had made it into the international news.
Charlotte had invited him round one Sunday, to enjoy the warm weather in her garden. She had made Lox, and served it with coffee from an Italian coffee maker in small cups bought from the local farmers market. He had brought his son, Alfred, who was called Alf. His nick-name annoyed him, although he envied the television-character called Alf, because he just ate crisps and sat in front of the telly day-in, day-out. He too liked Charlotte and Charly the cat, and asked if he could go to the fish-pond to see if he could catch some fish. They let him.
In the evening, Alf had returned with a fish in a little yellow bucket, they cut off its head with a knife, took out the fish bones, dipped it into a batter, fried it and relished. Alf ended up sleeping on the sofa, and Charlotte and Gerd ended up snuggeling up in Charlotte’s bed-room, leaving the cheese and wine on the kitchen table.
 

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