#A VERY TINY WITCH HOW TO#

Sometimes it would turn bright pink (Buttercup was fond of pink) or sometimes it would turn the colour of snot! She was also very good at bandaging up cuts and bruises, and she magicked up the most amazing lemonade that would change colour when you drank it. Putting something in someone’s fizzy-pop so they fall in love with you really isn’t very nice, and Buttercup thought love was too special to use magic on. She made the odd love-potion for girls and boys who wanted other boys or girls to fall in love with them, but she made them very weak, so they didn’t work very well. Most of her magic was used to help people who had the sneezes or couldn’t stop farting! She made a lot of potions for granddads, who could smell a bit sometimes. Like most witches, Buttercup wasn’t a bad person. When she was old enough to live on her own, her parents gave her a thatched cottage in a wood near the village of Piggy-Wallow, and retired to New Zealand, which is just a bit right of Australia.

Her dad bought her a half-sized broomstick and a small, soft, pointy hat (bright pink with little stars all over it) and declared: “Our girl is going to be a witch.” But when she was very ever-so-small, so small she could hardly remember being quite so weenie, each time she tried to bake something, it would either blow up in great clouds of red smoke or turn a sickly green and hop-hoppity-hop into the nearest pond, croaking like a frog and smelling disgusting! By the time she was a little bit older than very small, it was clear she would never be a baker. And she made pink and purple unicorn bread that had a big horn sticking out of the top and would gallop up and down the dining table.

She made onion bread that would burst into tears when you sliced it up. She made knotted bread that would magically re-knot itself if you tried to untangle it. She cooked buns with fairy dust that sparkled and tickled when you ate them. Her mother, Willow the Twig, was a dryad, a kind of imp, and was the most wonderful baker. When she was tiny, she didn’t want to be a witch. His nose was even bigger!īuttercup the Small had been a witch for as long as she could remember, and maybe even longer. Someone once called her Cow for short, but they too were soon sitting on a lily pad in a pond going croak.īut Buttercup was just Buttercup, though her dad, the wizard called Windy-Poop, called her Buttercup the Small. No, really, that was her real name: Bechamel the Custard Witch Who Lives in the Next Village Under a Cow. I mean, other witches had names like Drusilla the Bad, or The Dark Witch of the North, or Bechamel the Custard Witch Who Lives in the Next Village Under a Cow. The witch’s name was Buttercup, and she was embarrassed about that too. The witch was very embarrassed about her nose, and if anyone said, “oh, what a big nose you have!” she would turn them into a frog or worse. Her fingers slipped around his body, tentatively, hesitantly.Once there was a witch. His eyes squeezed shut and his body collapsed forward, his hands pushing into the fabric beneath him to try and hold him up as tears and sobs flew from him, unable to be stopped.

'I need you to stop me from thinking of this- of anything else.' 'I need to be overwhelmed,' he spat out, loud and broken.

'I want to comfort you,' she explained, 'I don't want to overwhelm you,' she begged from somewhere high above him. 'Please, I-' His sobbing returned, choking the rest of his words as a hand reached for her quickly blurring form, tears streaming down his face. 'Please,' he whimpered, her massive form leaning lower toward him to hear him better. Her voice trailed off and he shook his head as his breathing tried again to steady, and again failed to.

#A VERY TINY WITCH HOW TO#

'The only way I know how to help is to touch, and.' He looked and saw her hand, hovering feet away, quivering. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her voice cracking.

A very tiny witch