The Child the Witch Found

The first time I saw that child, he was sitting in a pool of blood among the dead, smiling at me with clear, bright eyes. I crouched down and raised my blade toward him, but he giggled and tumbled into my arms, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck. My master was right. I wasn’t suited to being a witch. As he passed away, his aged face was full of worry for me. He said, “You’re too soft-hearted. The dead are very good at exploiting people’s compassion.” I was a witch who hunted down the dead, yet I raised one of them. The child grew bigger every day, and more handsome with each passing year. But he didn’t seem to like humans. Whenever someone came to our home, he always looked deeply displeased, as though they had disturbed him. To him, humans didn’t seem like lives equal to his own. When I asked him about it, he smiled. His excessively beautiful face had a bewitching power over humans. His eyes were clear, innocent, and guileless as he said, “How could you think that? You’re the person I like most.” Theme: Archived