As he helped her settle in the chair, James couldn’t stop staring. The old woman looked nothing like the witch he had envisioned. She was just a frail, normal old woman, with lines of age etched into her face. Watching him stare, she smiled gently and asked, “What’s wrong, child?”
“Are you a witch?” James asked, his voice full of innocent curiosity. The question hung in the air for a moment before the old woman let out a soft laugh. She waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “A witch? Oh, no, child. I’m no witch. Just an old woman trying to live her life.”