CURSE THESE SKINNY WITCHES

The following book contains the documented consequences of two exhausted witches,

one poorly considered curse, and a town that forgot how to take care of its mothers.

Readers are advised that the events described here resulted in: migrating pumpkins, evaporating elixirs, several public crying incidents, and the near collapse of a local wellness industry.

Turns out, when you remove perfection, something else grows in its place.

Proceed with care.

CHAPTER ONE

The Baby Brew

Nella Nettlesworth had always considered herself to be a reasonable witch. Then she became a mother. She stabbed her trowel into the soil with such an exhausted rage that even the neighbors could hear it. Frazzled blonde curls bounced wildly around her face, milk stains on her clothes so old any passerby could have followed the scent straight to her. DaisyDot Drive was such a pleasant street. Quiet. Peaceful. Or at least, it had been.

“What do you think you are doing?” Mabel whispered, hurrying across the cobblestone path in a robe and mismatched socks. “You’re going to wake the babies.”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Nella turned so fast her hair stuck in her mouth. “They never let us sleep. So why should we let them?”

“They are babies, Nella,” Mabel said, wrestling her mess of brown waves back into a bun. She stopped, gaze flitting from their ruined garden to the pristine one across the way. “I hope you’re planning to clean this up.”

In truth, Knotwood Hollow hadn’t had a baby in residence for over a century. Witches lived long lives here and guarded them carefully. Wellness was more a prescription than a practice, one that was no match for the chaos of motherhood.

Nella pushed up to her feet in a huff and immediately swayed like a poorly balanced broomstick. For one horrifying second Mabel thought she might fall straight back into the dirt, but she steadied. If only out of spite.

“Now you listen to me, Mabel Maywick,” she said, jabbing a finger into her best friend’s chest. “I was up with them last night. All night. Not just for a few hours. All. Night. I know we agreed to take turns. But in my defense—” she gestured angrily to the doorway of their cottage. “This wasn’t my bright idea.”

Spinning around, Nella returned to digging. Mabel crossed her arms.

“Ugh,” she grimaced, hand wicking away at the spit-up on her collar. “This was my last clean robe.”

Nella glanced up smugly. “Then why don’t you just do the laundry?”

“I’d have to do it by hand.” Mabel’s eyes dropped to the tops of her teal slippers.

“And why is that?” Nella pressed, hoping Mabel would finally admit that she was just as overspent as she was.

“What are you doing anyway?” Mabel deflected, kneeling beside her. “Isn’t this where—”

“Yes,” Nella said. “This is where we hid that infernal thing.”

Three months. Three long months had passed since they had brought their bundles of chaos into the Hollow. In a frenzy, Mabel had shoved the potion back to the spot it should have never left in the first place.

“Why did you have to bury it so deep?” Nella grunted, her arm rummaging deep in the earth.

“I didn’t think we’d need it again. Besides, the town is already asking too many questions. Better to just let them think what they already do.” Mabel shrugged.

“Think what? That this is a miracle.” Nella scoffed. “No, I'm sorry. Two miracles?”

“At least they feel sorry for us this way.”

Nella pulled her arm free. “Right. Because that makes the sidelong glares acceptable?”

With a tiny shake of her head, Mabel nudged Nella out of the way and took over the hunt. Within seconds, her fingers closed around the cool glass and yanked it free. It glowed faintly with the reflection of moonlight. She twisted at the lid, jaw tightening as the crisp autumn air bit at her dirt-coated skin. Without a word, she handed it off to Nella.

With a determined pop, the smell of ink and sugar drifted into the air. Greedily, Nella unfolded the recipe, flipping it over and over at least a dozen times. Nothing. It looked exactly as it had. The Baby Brew. A gentle concoction for witches wishing to welcome new life into their home.

Nella rose sharply and marched into the house.

“Oh candlesticks,” Mabel muttered, pushing herself upright through the discomfort in her hips.

Inside, the place was more than a mess. It was a living portrait of months of intense sleep deprivation and two new mother witches who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.

“You aren’t going to be able to find one,” Mabel hissed into the living room.

Nella was on her faster than she could think twice. “Whose fault is that, hm?”

Mabel shoved her hands in her pockets, her brown eyes dismayed. Her pride and joy, the cottage she had kept pristine her entire life, reduced to shambles. Even the floral rug had given up, bunched at the edges.

“Careful—”

Nella’s foot snagged in a pile of laundry, nearly pitching her into the coffee table strewn with half-eaten pies, cracked mugs, and the sticky remnants of sugar-plum jam.

Mabel winced.

“There has to be one around here somewhere.” Nella caught herself, a blouse still stuck around her ankle as she dragged herself up the stairs.

Nella ransacked her room as if she could find the thing that would save them from all their troubles. In a way it could. Not fully, of course. That would require traveling back in time. She flung a stray boot over her shoulder, almost knocking over the wilting plant resting in the window.

“Oops,” she whispered. “Sorry, Jerry.”

Though, to be frank, Jerry the house fern deserved an apology long ago. She swept a pile of laundry aside on her bed, uncovering a small wooden box tied neatly with a white ribbon.

“Oh, for—”

With a flick of her wrist she sent it skidding. It hit the headboard with a dull knock, revealing the glint of glass inside. Waist-Away Elixir. Naturally.

Vivian Violet, the most prominent wellness witch in town, had delivered it last week. She hadn’t stayed long. She stood in the doorway, flawless as always. “For restoring harmony,” she had said. Nella had not missed the way she assessed her. The stains, the knots, the wrinkles. Then she smiled, and left.

In Knotwood, the Elixir was no longer just a drink; it was a social contract, a bitter, daily installment on the price of belonging.

Exhaling through her nose, Nella turned back to the room. About to give up, she spotted it, the thin wooden tip peeking out from under her large orange turtleneck.

“Got it.”

Mabel abandoned a pile of baby toys on the ground she had half-organized as Nella padded back down the stairs.

“How did you find that?”

Nella waved the wand proudly. “With my eyes, you wickless candlestick.”

Mabel’s expression went flat.

“Now where did I put the pesky piece of paper…” Nella began scavenging for the brew she had a mere moment ago.

“Here.” Mabel shuffled to her side. “I plucked it from your robe before it fell out and we lost it forever.”

“I wouldn’t have lost it.”

They paused, looking at each other, bound by the shared responsibility of two very tiny lives who depended entirely on them. After a moment, they took one another's hands and headed toward the couch. It took them too long, but eventually, they sat.

“We probably don’t have much time,” Nella said. “We are lucky they have slept this long as it is.”

Nella aimed the wand at the parchment. It was just like any other potion recipe: a list of ingredients. Chamomile petals for soft sleep and dreams. Three thimbleberries plucked from opposite sides of the same bush. A drop of honey stolen from a buzzing hive, and a pumpkin seed carried in a pocket for seven days.

Mabel blinked. “...That’s it?”

Nella let out a breath that resembled a laugh. “So we did do it right.”

Mabel nodded. “We followed the recipe.”

But it still didn’t feel… right. This could not possibly be how motherhood was meant to go.

“Turn it over.” Nella readied the wand. She touched the tip to the blank back of the paper, a small ripple of light. Then, ink. Ink bloomed, reluctantly. As though it understood, had they known what it required, they may have chosen differently.

“Oh no.” Mabel’s stomach sank, heavy as stone.

Nella’s brows pinched, as if the unveiled words were an illusion, a mirage her tiredness inspired. The Baby Brew recipe hung in the air, innocent as could be.

“Well… that feels like important information.” Nella lowered the page to the coffee table.

But Mabel’s gaze wouldn’t leave the text unfurling before them. A caution to all witches venturing into the joyous journey of motherhood. This brew should only be drunk if you have the following: A Matron of Milk, A Nestkeeper, A Broth Brigade, the tome: The Accounts of the Mother Witches of Knotwood Hollow, and a cauldron full of patience.

Mabel swiped up the parchment, stood, pacing as she read.

“Lack of communal support may result in: bone-deep exhaustion.”

“Check.” Nella propped her chin on her hand. The other, waving the wand in meaningless swishes.

“Emotional Wobbles.”

“Check.”

“Domestic wand disorder, half-finished charms, cottage clutter, and compulsive crying. The baby’s and yours.”

“Check. Check. Check. And… check.” Nella sank deeper into the cushions. “I wish this couch would swallow me whole.”

Mabel sat back down, flicking the parchment onto the table. “When we concocted the brew, I assumed the difficult part would be the magic.”

“Apparently not,” Nella mumbled. “Apparently the difficult part is the baby. Not the potion making, or the pregnancy part. The actual baby.” She leaned her head on Mabel’s shoulder. “I thought it would just be cute.”

“I know.” Mabel rested her head on Nella’s. “Me too.”

“Maybe this is why no one has babies anymore.” Nella’s green eyes shut, drifting.

“I’m sorry,” Mabel whispered, a waver in her tone. “I know you had your reservations. I’m the one that pushed. Now look at the state of this place… of us.”

“We both drank the brew, Mabel,” Nella said. “It isn’t like you forced it on me. I’m the one who found the thing. You're just the one with any follow-through.”

Mabel sniffled. No one in town had bothered to bring so much as a casserole. Evidently, new mothers were expected to magic their way through it alone, as if exhaustion were just another spell that needed perfecting.

“I can’t even read my own handwriting anymore.” A tear left Mabel’s eye as she gestured to the chalkboard on the far wall that once held thought-out goals and affirmations. Now it was covered in frantic, barely legible scribbles: feeding times, diaper changes, and sleep schedules that were more a delusion than reality.

Nella patted the top of Mabel’s hand. “Oh, Mabel. I don’t think decoding that mess would make things any easier.”

A small muddled laugh left Mabel’s mouth. “You should be angry with me. We used to run the most successful flower shop the Hollow had ever seen.”

“But I’m not.” Nella hummed once. “I am angry with about everything else though.” She pushed herself upright. With a grumble and a curse she shoved a spare cloth under her robe. “And, I am extremely tired of all this leaking.”

Nella picked up a mug from the coffee table and sniffed it, her face turning sour.

“I’ll go put on some tea.”

Mabel dragged a hand under her nose and nodded.

“It’ll be okay Mabel.” Nella said, coaxing her best friend back from the brink. “We’ll be okay.”

As Nella headed to the kitchen, Mabel reached for a loaf of bread in front of her, gave it a quick suspicious sniff, then took a generous bite. It sat on her tongue for a moment, guilt blooming, enough to make her hesitate before swallowing.

“Grab the jam too, please,” she said, resolving herself to a life of scrutiny.

Above the stove, Nella glanced at the intricately filigreed invitation set on the tile countertop. A rehearsed kindness. Her grip tightened on the handle of the stone tea kettle. She’d rather be on the receiving end of a curse than face a table full of former friends, but Mabel’s spark had dimmed too much already. If getting her out of the cottage meant pasting on a smile and holding herself together by sheer will alone, she’d do it.

“We should go to this," she called, voice too sweet.

Mabel got up, sweeping a clear path with her foot. “Go to what?”

She grabbed two mugs from the island that was more a warzone of bottle brewing and ravenous postpartum snacking than a prep space.

“Brunch,” Nella said, already contemplating the consequences. “Vivian left us this invitation.”

“You want to go to brunch?” Mabel raised her eyebrows. “Like this?”

Her fingers tugged at her robe. As she did, the cloth tucked inside Nella’s slipped free and landed on the floor. Nella groaned, bending down to pick up the soaked fabric.

“No, not like this,” she said, fixing her collar. “We’ll shower, get dressed. Pretend like we’re actual witches for an hour or two instead of the milk maids we’ve been enlisted as.”

“What about the babies?” Mabel poured the steaming water into the mugs.

“We’ll bring them with,” Nella said. “There isn’t anything on the card that says we can’t.”

“You don’t think they’ll judge us?” Mabel settled into a wooden chair, the tea taking too long to steep.

“Oh, absolutely.” Nella joined her, balancing a cookie precariously on the rim of her mug. “But what does it matter?”

Mabel’s fingers twisted around the string of her ginger root tea. It mattered. The looks would come, the small smiles, the careful suggestions disguised as concern. Even quick trips to the market had become strained. Each comment, light as it seemed, landed somewhere tender.

“We’ll have each other,” Nella added, even if it meant pretending a little longer than she could stand. “How bad could it be?”

Mabel's shoulders slouched. “Right. How bad could it be?”

Nella tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We could always cast a little curse on them for fun,” she said. “A simple tongue-tied charm, perhaps.”

Mabel laughed and just as she lifted the mug to her lips, a sound tore clean through the quiet. Wailing, Mimmy's, of course.

Outside, the cries penetrated the thick pale stone as a glass jar was resealed and shoved deep back beneath a peony bush. The iron lanterns along the cobblestone path had been left burning through the darkened early hours, they had for weeks now. The garden remained unruly and forgotten, vines creeping where they pleased, blossoms blooming where they shouldn’t.

Across the Hollow, hedges stood trimmed to perfection. Windows gleamed. Witches would wake, steam their robes, and smile easily at one another, certain everything was exactly as it should be. Yet, beneath the polish and practiced restraint, a restlessness waited. Like moss growing thick in places care had been forgotten. By morning, Nella would walk straight into that bright, orderly Hollow, and discover exactly how little patience she had left for it.