The witch of New Orleans

er invitation, the sky over New Orlea

ooth, cream-colored square folded once and placed beneath her chamber

, handwritten scrip

We hav

family. She remembered how Isadora's mother had screamed. How her hands clutched

had not. She had

ourn-but

ttle witch was

frail. Money kept her flesh plump and her gowns tight. Her eyes still gleamed lik

nd set out in a lacquered ca

Bellerose estate, a stran

oked larger t

streets. Windows shifted when she looked too long at them. A door blinke

s face was a mask. She hadn'

Silver trays gleamed. Fresh scones steamed. And there, sea

li

aut

nger entir

s-black, endless, rimmed with the faintest scarle

said. "How good

"You've grown dramatic, Isadora.

for the s

e for c

her head. "Closu

len

e tea poured its

me?" Velline

ve you

she s

sity, perhaps. Like a child wondering how long

Sniffed. It smelled lik

d b

ip anyway. Pr

om grew

d mirror from the tray and

ou to look

kled. "What g

me. Jus

y, Velline

aw shattere

ection ha

ng black. Mouth sewn shut. Her hair had rotted away into mold, and worms w

d the mirro

idn't

d, staring down at her trembli

id softly. "To the you benea

line

is ma

replied. "This

wood twisted. Shadows dripped from the ceil

to flee-but the

. And in it-herself, again. Rotti

ieked, pounding her fi

of the mirror, her re

mi

an to cl

ushed through the silver pane. Inch by inch, it emerged-maggots

lapsed. The

mirror co

nd it. A void that hissed and

exhaled.

ea tray still sat on the table. Steam still cur

mirror, her refle

ili

g for t