When apricots will forget - FINISHED -

First kiss

There are much better things to do with apricots than to sell them at the market. The acidity of the fruit is perfect for masking the taste of certain herbs. Old Maeeve, who lived outside the village, used to pay me handsomely to bring them to her, and when she had finished making pies or cakes, I would deliver them to their recipients. Then some men would become mysteriously ill or women would miscarry. The unlucky ones would succumb.

Ezik stood still. He could see Kirke's mouth moving and his ears had heard her words, but in that moment his head no longer seemed able to interpret those sounds and turn them into ideas.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" she said, biting into the fruit in her hands. She blinked for a long time, and it clicked in Ezik's mind. In an instant, he assimilated her last surreal sentences. Nonsense, he thought, as he instinctively withdrew his hand from the fence. He wondered if Kirke really believed what she was saying. She was probably just teasing him. Ezik thought it was an original idea, however, and did not want to take the discussion back to conventional grounds. He saw Curry next to him slip between two broken bars of the fence and join Kirke cheerfully on the other side. He entered his game:

"Really? And so at this moment my dog at your feet has forgotten all about me?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "it's only the memories inside that you forget when you come out. Besides, I don't think magic works on animals."

"You seem to know a lot about it. Did you cast that spell?"

"No," Kirke repeated, "I knew about this place before it became magical, but when I came back last time, the spell was already in place. I didn't realise it until after I'd entered."

"But you're a witch, aren't you?"

"Maybe..." Kirke answered with a mysterious smile that Ezik knew was forced. He liked that. She seemed to be having fun with him.

"How long have you been here? Two hundred years?" said Ezik, moving closer again and resting his elbow casually on the fence.

"How should I know?" replied Kirke with a falsely offended look, "I didn't have fun counting the days."

"Do you know who cast that spell?" asked Ezik, pointing to the whole garden with a broad sweep of his hand, "a lover who wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?"

"It would make a nice story, but I've never met a Prince Charming willing to go home with me. Until today," she added, pointing at Ezik.

Kirke teased him and continued the game between them. With his cheerful look and his tattered clothes, Ezik thought that he was indeed an unusual picture, like the white knight who braved the brambles to go and wake up his princess. His princess before him was quite charming. He liked the ease with which Kirke could talk to him, a stranger.

He looked around. This place had a fairy-tale feel to it. It was no wonder that such ideas came to his mind. Kirke had taken great care to give it an old-fashioned look. The apricot trees looked as if they had grown without ever having been pruned, thin branches were broken, their extension blocked by other older branches. Even the position of the trees was as if by chance. Three of them, behind the wooden bench, were too close to each other and interfered with each other. The roots of the largest trunk were sticking out dangerously, as if lifted by strong winds.

The young man walked along the fence and approached the small, waist-high gate with a simple latch. He stared at the old cottage only ten meters in front of him. It's amazing how shabby this shack is, considering how much care Kirke has taken to make the outside look nice, he thought. He imagined the dilapidated interior and the floor sagging in places. This image brought him back to reality. It was not safe to enter.