It is said that when a cat dies a new witch is born.

That's probably why I never met nor had a mother or a father. But I had a cat, I wonder if when a witch dies a cat is born. I couldn't know, I've never met a witch in my life but I've met a lot of cats... They come and go. I suppose if a witch is to come out of them, the cats flee from where other witches are located, out of respect for space... Cats do that and require that, maybe witches do too.

I'm Darcelle, the only witch in this forest and apparently, the only witch in the nearby village. I'm quite sure I look like a witch, everyone always decides to mock me and the cats when I need something from the village market. No one ever dares to come any closer than that. No one tries to get to know me, no one answers my questions... Maybe they were taught to leave the witches alone and ignore their existence. I'm not dangerous, I suppose I am not. But not even that could they tell me.

Oh dear, I have to melt the wax and extract the oils. Poppy will be sad if I don't bring him on, in time.

Remember when I said I had a cat? My baby ginger cat... I found him in a field of orange poppies, hence the name. I remember I was a child when I found him, we grew up together, but vets couldn't save him when he got sick. Either they couldn't save him, or they couldn't save a cat's witch... I was 16 when he almost passed, and that. That is part of my magic, of what I could figure out on my own. I sculpted him while he was still alive...

I hope I'm not confusing you all with my simple but convoluted story, things can get messy when you work with wax. That's what I'm doing... In fact I'm making sure the oil gets the perfect colour to mix with the wax... I absolutely hate it when I get muddy colours. Different mixtures, good. Muddy... No, no, can't have that.

Where was I in my story? I suppose I should tell you why wax is part of my essence. I learned in the village, people don't speak with me but when I was a child, I think it was harder for them to realise I was a witch, so they stayed quiet and allowed me to watch certain activities. Only watch.

I watched how candles were made, how to cook and sew. All things I keep close to my heart. But I pampered the wax making, candles are nice and I have a lot of them. But making pretty things with them just sounds... Exciting.

On one of the days I was sculpting wax, I discovered a spell... The day I accepted the name people had given... Witch. The bird that was coming together gained life after the words "Wax is so warm to create figures, maybe one day it can be warm enough to create life", the bird whistled at me and flew inside my house.

Darcelle the second, that's what I called her. Nowadays she has grown into a bigger name, Linnet Darcelle the second. She spends a lot of time outdoors, I wonder if I could ever fly with her. If that magic ever existed I would love to learn it.

What I learned in the days after Linnet was born, was that only saying the words wasn't enough to bring anything to life. Maybe that's why I can only bring Poppy every night and not forever.

I don't know if it's will, if it's belief, or if it's the type of wax or colour to match the creature. Maybe it's me, maybe I don't remember all the right words.

Give me a moment, I'll return to the story in a little bit. My oil is ready, having the oil and the wax at the perfect temperature gap is crucial to have the best consistency to sculpt. In the village no one ever made wax from different colours, so I suppose what I'm doing is the correct way to do it. Everything in one pot, tap tap with the special spoon, stir and stir the other way. If I wanted the streaked pattern, I could leave it like that. Not today, stir it and tap it a little more until it is even.

Perfect. Now I wait for a little bit to let the wax cool down, I like to touch it with my own hands. And my hands are sensitive.

As I prepare the table for the new sculpture, let me tell you about the big breakthrough of my life.

Years passed, I wasn't a child or a teenager anymore. I began to feel lonely on the days Linnet would fly away and Poppy would only keep me company for the night. People at the village grew impatient whenever I was around. I got the memo and reduced my presence to every 2 weeks or once a month to gather what I needed in the market.

I never fully stopped observing people, in fact, I think one of the men made my pom-pom a little purry. A teacher, he always dressed himself in a suit and had books for walls at his house, I suppose he was also different in humans' eyes. He was alone most of the time, only accompanied by students when he was to lecture a class. Oh, that was the other thing I loved about him. His voice, sweet and deep, he sounded like a magical poet, saying each word as if he was savouring them in his mouth, they tasted so sweet, sometimes sour, but at night when he would read his book out loud, it sounded magical. Was he a wizard? How did he get to stay with the humans? Was he just a different human? Or was I just in love with a stranger?

Ah! My table is ready, I'm thinking of sculpting a few more books for him and maybe I'll try to make a bunny today... I would wish to have the magic to speak with animals. Maybe there's a witch out there who does speak with them. I don't, and I find so many animals fascinating, if I make them I may reach them instead of scaring them.

The reason why I brought him up, was because I sculpted my biggest sculpture to this day after him, with his silver hair, his perfect teeth, his big hands, the details of his suit collar... Sylvan, was his name and the sculpture's too. Poppy would sit on his lap every night to fall asleep. That sculpture had become too real for both me and him. It's mainly my fault, I sculpted Sylvan seated on top of my kitchen counter holding a book, he looked too real, he felt too real.

The breakthrough happened on the day when I sculpted his thin glasses as I said the words...

- Wax is so warm to create figures, maybe one day it can be warm enough to create life.

Once I placed the glasses on his waxy face, I felt a breeze like a breath. I jumped back, it had been years since I had been able to bring anything to life.

- It's finally nice to meet one of my most astute students. What should I call you? - The wax sculpture asked.

- People call me a witch.

- Your name, that is.

- Darcelle.

- Where is Poppy?

- Oh Poppy! Yes... in one moment. He will...

- Get sad if you don't bring him on.

- Precisely.

As I said the words to Poppy, a happy meow came in, he jumped on my lap and the sweet deep voice behind me said:

- Now I can finally help you...

His waxy hands touched my waist and at the same moment he kissed me, heating so much that I don't know how he didn't melt.

Next thing I remember after our first kiss, was waking up on a bed, side by side with Poppy, his fur was ginger and real, as opposed to waxy and orange sometimes too strong or too faint. As I sat on the bed so happy to have my cat back in daylight, Sylvan came near the door frame, standing there smiling at us.

- Can I read you a story? - He asked.

........................................................................................

When the village stopped seeing me, they began to say:

"Don't go into the woods, there once lived a witch that burned her house down. She made a world out of wax and one day that turned out very badly for her. The only things left are a few ruins of what were the walls of her house, her cauldron and the tools for wax making. If you get too close, you can still see a spoon stirring the wax inside it... If you are courageous enough, you can look inside and still see the witch, her cat and her husband... Luckily the witch has only cursed a bird, the poor creature is a flying wax that disappears for many days but always comes back to the cauldron."

........................................................................................

I won't change people's minds about my story, let them think what they want. That's all they ever did. But one other thing changed after that day...

Linnet has visited us many more times than before. Maybe she stays for longer because Sylvan gave her that name. He knows about stories, both Linnet and I accepted the name.

Maybe he is a wizard after all. Or maybe I did all of this on my own...

- Did I say it nicely this time?

- I wouldn't have told it better. I love that story. And the ending is perfect, let them think what happened to you, let them remember your name and wish they were you, Darcelle.

- Oh wait, I messed up some...

- No, no. Let the imperfections of your story stay as they are. I could edit to make it perfect, but this is your story after all.