The Witch of 402

I saw the Witch, noticed her, for the first time when Gods clashed inside the Wall. Gods, or foolish men who believed that God live inside stones and statues. It was the first time I was seeing open hatred and witnessing the warfare of the peaceful.

Short hair and shorter shorts, a modern day Witch, whose body hosted an ancient soul. Standing tall, above men, her voice- shrill and powerful at the same time, she demanded justice from the ugly Wimp with potbelly. 

I saw her again while walking around the Wall. 

She spoke to me for the first time after the mouthy trickster surrounded me along with his slaves, intimidating me, while the battle for the Wall crown was going on. She told me not to worry and to say Fuck off to that Jabbering Ant the next time he dared question me. The traitor like feeling, that was welling inside me, drained hearing her words, and I walked holding my head high. 

Later I found out she was friends with the same people I was friends with. Then how come we didn't talk before? The Witches only reveal themselves when they feel like it, I suppose. 

Days passed. The Witch and her Fae folk became my family, luring me with warmth, love and flowers. We drank and danced and fought against fascists. Some days she was the wizened old witch, on other days she was a little girl with flower on her hair and sun dancing on her face. Loud laughter and louder love. Brave and calm even when she was stuck on a gate, planning to pull the spear from the Fool's soldiers and kill them using it. Her laughter going from happy to sinister depending who she was dealing with. Shaving her head and smoking cigarettes, drinking chai and petting dogs, like a tree that moves around giving shade (both shades) the Witch of 402 awaits her coven's return, so that she could sit us around a bonfire and fill us with peace and love again.