The Honey Witch

What is so wrong about being a bitch? It is the closest a girl can be to a wolf.

These are the wild women who run barefoot through the meadow, who teach new songs to the birds, who howl at the moon together. Wild women are their own kind of magic.

Is that not magical in itself? To have survived this long despite the world’s penchant for beautiful dead girls?

But what happens when the girl keeps living, when she ages proudly and defiantly, without abandoning imagination, or stories, or that secret wish to find magic wherever it hides? Well, then the poets would call her a witch.

Well, that’s how all love works,” August says. “You can’t love anyone without the fear of losing them, without the forethought of grief. There is an inherent loss in love, but that does not mean that love is not worth it.

Just because she is choosing a different life path from you does not give you the right to belittle her. She’s not doing anything wrong. She’s not hurting anyone. She simply wants a little red lipstick and a nice boy to notice her.’ ‘But should’t she want more for her life than that?’ ‘Why any woman wants for herself is not for you to decide. You would do well to remember this.

It is a mistake to think of grief as an absence. It’s more of a dark, shadowy thing that sits in constant periphery, always there, always stealing air and making it hard to breathe.

It is better to be lost in a beautiful daydream than trapped in a dim reality.

One day, I will be a rose. And I will plant myself somewhere so beautiful that I will never want to leave.” Her mother laughed. “And what if someone wants to pluck you?” “That is what the thorns are for,” she said.

Heartbreak is inevitable, but so is healing, so don’t be afraid to fall in love freely and often.

What any woman wants for herself is not for you to decide. You would do well to remember that.

Anyone can be capable of something impossible— as a witch, she must believe that.

Grief is often too strange and too vast to fit into words.

A Honey Witch provides women with choice—something they are all too often denied.

She thinks of the excuse of youth — the thing that makes it okay to be so lost — and how it is slipping through her fingers with every passing year.

Who made this rule that people cannot have everything that they want, all at once?

It would be a safe choice, a comfortable choice that no one could fault her for, but it does mean that every day she would have to sit in her room and look at her beige walls and wonder what could have been if she had painted them bright yellow or pink. What if she had forgone paint entirely? Or better yet, what if there were no walls at all? Only sky, sunlight, salty water, fresh rain, and spring flowers and no one else around to comment on the paint color of the walls.

Marigold once thought that all she would ever require for happiness would be to fit in somewhere, to be part of something bigger and better than herself. But now that she has that, it is not enough. It may be the case that all she needs — perhaps all she ever needed — are a few good people who will not leave. That will be enough. It has to be enough.

She is terribly worried that in the painting of this world, she will be a blemish instead of a bloom.

It is better to be lost in a beautiful daydream then trapped in a dim reality.

the world is quite nice, but only if you know where to look. Friendships are harder to break than you think, and you will not outgrow the ones that are the most important. Heartbreak is inevitable, but so is healing, so don’t be afraid to fall in love freely and often.

Yes, she is a grown woman, and is that not magical in itself? To have survived this long, despite the world’s penchant for beautiful dead girls?

Oh well, ruining it was worth it—being a witch is so much more fun than being a wife.

No. You see only springtime. What happens when I am winter? I will tell you, Mr. Notley. When winter comes”—she leans in close so their noses are almost touching—“you will freeze.

Put away all thoughts of anyone else’s expectations. Only you have the right to decide your own fate.

Folklore is born only from the mind of a poet.

love is all-consuming and more powerful than anything else.

The following days bleed into one another, each filled with wonder and magic and spirits and honey.

Many of the customers are women seeking some sort of cure, refuge, or fertility-control spells. It brings Marigold great joy to know that she can save another woman from being trapped in a life that she does not want, for she was so close to a similar fate. She narrowly escaped the life of a wife and mother, and she will always help another woman do the same. A Honey Witch provides women with choice - something they are all to often denied.