“tell me,” she said, “do you know what this is?” taking off a cap and tilting the contact lens case there appeared to be little but contact solution. maybe water.
“pain” she said. pain.
she continued talking picking up vials and odd containers. shapes and sizes all. colors too.
“this pain, a very specific one. it’s the pain of the most sever migraine. a terrible thing to do to someone. yes, yes, we could inflict physical pain-a broken bone, a nasty gnash — i have those tears too. but this, this, there is no suffering worse than one that takes away your mind. is this what you’re looking for?”
“no, that’s not the pain you’re after today? what you’re looking for is something along the lines of the heart. i have something more spectacular for that, if i think i know why you’re here” she said. pausing to turn around for something on a kitchen shelf, she then continued,”i gift you with the knowledge of–witch tears.”
“what does it take to make a witch cry?”
“now darling,” she cooed as if she had the world to console, “let the world have some of it’s mysteries.”
“what does it cost?”
“not much, a shred of your humanity. but people lose their humanity over the smallest things these days. at least your’s would have some cause, some reason. don’t you want to know what it can do?”
she settled onto a table cluttered with knick-knacks from an antique shop. “these tears,”the aged voice continued, “cannot take away your pain, but they will be endured in equal by whoever it was that inflicted such suffering on you.”
it was tempting. to have him feel it all. the blows of disbelief. the stab of lies. the burn of deception. the hurt the hurt the hurt. witch tears. it would be fitting. he’d see the humor.
“i understand why it appeals to you,” she began while one fist unfurled to reveal a small dropper. “it would be, in every sense of the word, just. an eye for an eye.”
he did deserve it. for being callous. for being selfish. for being unkind. for taking advantage of it all. it would be fair. it would indeed be just.
then while repeating the motion with her left wrist, the wrinkles of palm unfolded to show a small emerald pill, “but maybe for you, i have an alternative.”
“this? this.” she spoke like a lullaby, “this is something almost forgotten. this is something so rare these days. this is something incredibly powerful.”
“too rare to afford?”
“no, no, for this the barter is that you change too. it’s a process you see, you consume it–it will alter you. and it will transform him. he will be given something beyond pain, he will be enlightened. he will see the errors of his ways. the mistakes he continues to make. he will learn the treasure of loving you. the gift of you. but only if you want it. if you allow it.”
“will it hurt?”
“all processes require some pain. there is always that additional cost. but he will feel it too. it will be a different pain.”
“he will change for certain?”
“for a time definitely. whether he will stay that way for always, it isn’t up to you. but you, you will be changed by it. it is the best healing i can give you. so tell me, what do you choose to inflict.”
looking at the right, “vengeance.” then to the left, “or forgiveness?”