The Witches #7

Tulip’s room was a space she had dedicated years to perfecting, a space that was completely her own; whenever her sisters walked past they would see her at work, moving some shards of crystal Daphne had presented her on her 10th birthday, adjusting one of the pinecones that hung from the ceiling in one corner (gifts from Lilac on each of her trips to a new forest), reorganising her books or painting a new section of the walls. Rarely did they see Tulip settled in her room, reading one of the books beside her bed or even simply sitting.

Whenever either went in they would always be able to pick out some new object, a feather or a nest or a box with a clutch of owlets sheltering from a storm (at least that was what Tulip had said, although it had been a fine summer’s day at the time).

It was a dark room, the walls yellow beneath the series of pictures, patterns, words and dreams Tulip had painted atop them. A green moss mat covered the floor, worn and soft and irreplaceable. There were notebooks and branches and scraps of paper, ink and paints and brushes sitting in cloudy water. On every surface sat plants, ferns and palms and vines and strawberries, bonsai and cut flowers and mint. Basil grew beside her bed and outside honeysuckle and ivy grew, making the room feel private and dappled, a secret world.

Her bed was covered in quilts and pillows and so many things you would certainly squash something if you sat down. It was a room that felt like Tulip, warm and welcoming and a little shy and very disorganised, passionate and curious and caring. If ever Tulip was away, Daphne and Lilac would inevitably find themselves there, shifting the books from the bed and holding the cat who had taken up residence at the foot of it, one of the few animals who sought out the company of Tulip over Daphne. They would also collect and wash all the cups dotted about the room, often twenty or so with pencil shavings and notes and tea dregs gathered in the bottom.

Tulip would return and follow the cat to her room where she would find her sisters sleeping and her cups all gone, often a bird waiting for its seed on the window ledge.

Today Tulip’s room was full, but the three sisters were all awake.

‘Tulip,’ Lilac murmured, ‘I think the plants will be-’

Tulip silenced her with a look.

‘Why don’t we pack for you, then?’ Daphne offered, even though the reason both she and Lilac had appeared was because they couldn’t manage to pack their own bags without getting distracted.

‘Alright, then,’ Tulip said. ‘And what, exactly, will you be putting in my bag? Hmm?’

‘A… a snack,’ Daphne said, nodding. ‘And definitely at least one…’

‘Swimsuit. And kitty!’

‘The cat can’t come, she hates brooms and who else will feed the birds and water my plants?’ Tulip interjected in astonished tones, shaking her head and placing a tiny witch’s hat atop the sleeping cat. It instantly bats it off, now… less asleep.

‘Oh. Of course. Silly me. Well definitely your broom, you’ve got to-‘

‘I’ll be riding my broom,’ Tulip pointed out. ‘Really, I’m quite alright with my packing, Why don’t you two do some baking, or double check the maps?’

‘No! We’ll help you-‘

‘If you don’t get out then I won’t pack your bags. Got it?’ Tulip raised an eyebrow as both sisters darted from the room. ‘I want at least one chocolate cake just for me!’ she yelled after them as clanging filled the kitchen.

Packing for holidays was always an interesting experience.

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 The Witches is a serial story, published every week on Thursday/Friday. See you then!