‘You know what to do?’ asks the old woman.
Connie nods, fingers tensed around the cup. The stench of the liquid catches in the back of her throat – vinegar sour, metallic – turning her stomach.
The old woman scuffs to the fire, tosses herbs into the flames. ‘Drink and they will find you.’
The liquid scalds Connie’s stomach. Heat spreads across her skin – hot needles turning to pokers skewering her heart and lungs, stealing her breath. She chokes. Gasps.
A giggle – another. One small body snuggles against her side, the weight of another on her lap.
‘Oh, my loves,’ she says.
Written for Notina’s Moral Mondays, the theme this week being Love Conquers All. Pop along to see the rules and to join in.