It had snowed during the night, even wearing the thickest layers she owned, Sophie felt the cold deep in her bones. They ached with the passage of time.
As she set the hearth and got the fire going it was slow work, her joints protesting each movement. The old house she lived in was in serious need of repairs, the thatching on the roof was no longer holding the cold at bay. The wind ripped right through the wooden planking of the doors adding a cruel bite the air.
Sophie thought, not for the first time, about using some of her meagre savings to pay for Johnny the Blacksmith down in the village to come up and at least fix the worst of the holes in the front and back door. She knew if she asked he would do it and refuse payment but Sophie did not get to where she was by taking charity.
Her pride would not allow it and in the cold dark moments of the early morning she would have to admit to herself her pride was the only reason she was able to keep living.
The logs on the hearth had caught and were starting to fight off the chill in the air. Sophie pulled on the oven mitts that hung over the fire that doubled as her only pair of gloves. Picking up the kettle with a barely audible grunt of effort that she still resented she headed outside to the water butt. Using the kettle to break the ice that formed on top, filled the kettle and shuffled back through the snow and inside.
Her mind wandered as it did so much these days, she began the slow process of preparing the porridge and looked longingly at the basket of eggs that had been left at her door yesterday by someone.
She knew it was widow Tranky that left it there but would never talk to her about it, never admit how much she appreciated the little tokens left to keep her going.
With the kettle bubbling away now, the porridge hanging over the fire as well, Sophie decided to treat herself and have some eggs. She knew she should save them to bulk up her dinner but in the back of her mind she knew that her days were running out. Why save them when she might not even get the chance to enjoy them?
Standing in front of the now roaring hearth, thankful to Johnny for the logs he kept supplied for her without question or payment, the heat was slowly reaching into her bones and dispelling the chill and weariness.
The sliver of lard in the pan was popping and bubbling, Sophie cracked two of the precious eggs into the pan and held it over the fire. She should use the stand for the frying pan but it was warm and comfortable to be this close.
Lost in thought Sophie did not notice the colours starting to form and twist, flowing off the pan in wisps of smoke like an oil slick evaporating into the cold dawn air.
There was a sparkle and pop in the air, Sophie knew that sound in her soul. She had heard it so many times before so when the handsome man appeared floating in the air next to her she did not flinch.
Dressed flamboyantly in tights as dark as pitch with sparks of light crawling over them, the belt was a staggering bright gold that was difficult to look at. The puffy shirt with so much lace that it almost drowned out the cravat the erupted from the neck line.
Sophie found herself smiling into the smiling face of a man who was decades her junior who lounged in the air without a care in world. The shock of blond hair radiating around his head in a way that should be ridiculous however the confidence of this man flowed off him in waves.
“Back again I see Weaver.” Sophie said, trying to not show just how much his appearance warmed her, more than the roaring fire in front of her ever did.
The floating man fired off a wink that should have been arrested for public indecency before his lilting voice filled the small room of the cottage, wall to wall.
“Sophie, my love! As radiant as ever. I love what you have done with yourself today!”
Sophie couldn’t stop herself from raising one mitted hand to pat the tight iron gray bun she had pulled her hair into.
Weaver looked her over in such a way that made her feel half her age even though she was standing in her woolen lined boots that were more fray than boot now, the old black dress that didn’t even pretend that she had curves any more and the apron that was scorch marked and stained and probably older than she was.
“Weaver, you know not to just drop in. What if someone saw you?” Her mouth pulled tight as it was dragged into a smile at the man.
“If you had another man here I would understand my love although I would have to fight him for your honour.” Weaver said with a flourish as if throwing down a gauntlet at an imaginary foe.
Still smiling Sophie looked back to her eggs and with a cry pulled them away from the fire, they were getting burnt. She threw them down on the scarred table top and scowled at Weaver.
“Damn it, if they are inedible I will never forgive you Weaver.”
He brought his hands to his heart as if wounded and begun to open his mouth to say something. Sophie cut him off with a swipe of her still mitted hand.
“No Weaver, I have told you before. No magic, I do not agree to the pact.”
A look of pain flashed behind those smiling eyes of his for a moment and then was replaced with the usual twinkle.
“As you wish my Love.” Weaver said as he begun to float around the cottage.
Sophie grunted and pulled the kettle and then the porridge off the hearth and served it up. She took a moment for self pity as she looked at her meagre breakfast in the only crockery she owned before banishing those thoughts. Others had it harder than her, she shouldn’t feel sorry for herself.
Also how many women have had a Djinn chasing them for their entire adult life?
Sitting down slowly, Sophie felt like she did everything slowly these days, she begun to break her fast. She watched while Weaver floated around the confines of her little cottage, humming to himself, creating little sparks of light and warmth. His bejeweled slippers tapping along the ground, the walls, the ceiling as he floated.
Sophie still remembered him showing up on her 18th name day. In a burst of light and sound, the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on had appeared and declared his undying love and asked her hand in marriage.
She knew of Djinns and the fickleness of their nature and turned him down. He had promised her riches, the world, everlasting youth. She refused.
Sophie had thought that would be it, as he left dejected. She didn’t think that many women turned down such a request.
What followed however was a life long chase. He was never jealous, Sophie had buried two husbands. One from war, one from illness. Weaver never asked her while she was married however he would still appear to, well, talk. Weaver became her closest friend, her longtime companion. However while her body and mind was ravaged by time Weaver stayed the same exuberant and fanciful young man.
Sophie had considered his proposal many, many times. How could she not? It got harder and harder for her to stick to her principles now, when just existing was painful, when two fried eggs for breakfast was considered treating herself.
Sophie felt a tightness in her chest. It was unnatural and hard in a way. She was used to aches and pains but this was different. Putting down her spoon she held her hand to her heart and shuddered with pain that seemed to radiate from under her chest.
Instantly Weaver was beside her. “My Love? What is wrong?”
Forcing her hand away Sophie shook her head, “Nothing Weaver, just old age.”
He hovered next to her for a beat too long but then floated away to look at her cabinet of treasures. Little knickknacks that she had collected over the years or had been sent back by her now distant children from far away lands.
“So, Weaver.” Sophie tried to say as nonchalantly as possible “Have you changed your mind?”
Weaver stiffened and Sophie could see him vibrate in the air with the effort of containing himself.
Quietly though as if he was talking to the beer stein in the cabinet, he spoke “No my Love. The pact is always there for you.”
Pushing her eggs around the plate the pain in her chest grew. “I become yours and what do I get?”
Even softer as if he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “My Love. The Pact has not changed.” Weaver paused and just floated there. Sophie had never seem Weaver at a loss for words. “It is I who have changed.”
He turned then and she saw the Djinn in him, saw the rage and hatred in his eyes that he was barely controlling. Sophie knew she should feel afraid.
But this was Weaver.
His face contorted as she watch him force the words out into the air.
“I. Become. Yours.”
Sophie couldn’t believe it, in all the stories you became a slave of the Djinn in return for riches and life however it was never what you thought it would.
It took her less than a painful heartbeat to decide.
“Agreed.”
Johnny stepped out of his forge wiping his brow. This horse was a bugger to shoe but he prided himself on being able to get a shoe onto anything. He just needed a break.
There was a ripping, thundering sound that broke the morning stillness over the village. It came from Stubborn Sophie’s cottage sitting on the edge of the village.
A burst of sparks and ribbons of colour erupted from the small building, blowing the roof clean off.
Till the day he died Johnny would swear that he saw what had to be the daughter he never knew Sophie had, fly through the village, hand in hand with the most outrageously dressed man he had ever seen. Both laughing, both crying. The burst of warmth and love he felt as they flew past filled Johnny with happiness he had never felt before or since.
Inspired by the image linked below, by the talented artist Chechula Čupová. I have also included their Patreon link.
https://www.deviantart.com/faqy/art/Howl-and-Sophie-785348112