A Midsummer Night's Feast

Asta stared longingly at the beautiful young woman. The bright white lace of her dress contrasted with her long, silky, black hair, spilling out like ink as she laughed and talked. He was looking at her. Recently, he was always looking at her, with light and joy and love in his eyes. She felt nauseous. He had never looked at her like that. They had been friends since childhood, but now he was always by her side. And if he wasn't with her, then he was talking about how amazing she was. Now she was just a footnote, a third wheel, a discarded plaything.

She looked down at her red dress, clinging to her skin, and straightened the fabric. It was the summer solstice festival, and wearing such a thing was considered inappropriate. But it was worth it to her if she could catch his eye. Of course, this year they had chosen her to be the belle of the ball—the one to wear the white dress and marry the sun to the earth. She would be the 109th voice to sing the song of the sun, a tradition that occurred every year, excluding the two years of forsaken dark. But those years of silence were before her time.

A hush came over the crowd as he helped her up the wooden platform that served as their outdoor stage. They all turned their gaze to the horizon as the first rays of summer sunlight appeared. A moment passed of waiting. Then she began to sing, low and melodic. Some people closed their eyes and began to sway, while others stood transfixed. She closed her eyes, too, for relief from the symbol of all her worries and pain standing above her like an angel descending from heaven to test her faith. Beautiful but deadly. Pure, but a harbinger of chaos. Perfect, unlike her.

When the ceremony ended, she watched the two lovebirds giggle and brush their hands against each other, wanting to embrace, but knowing it would be frowned upon at the festival, given her role as this year's sun greeter. Asta looked down at her dress again, cheeks suddenly burning with shame. People were eyeing her attire and raising their eyebrows, then trying to pretend they hadn't noticed. While everyone else's clothes were loose and flowing, her's clung to her every curve and cut low to show more skin. He hadn't looked her way even once.

She wanted to leave. No one would notice if she weren't there anyway. But one of her friends, a girl from the village, spotted her and waved.

"You look beautiful, Asta!"

Asta plastered a smile to her face, "Thank you!" From the corner of her eye, she saw them together, holding hands. Her heart raced. She dragged her eyes away from them, but her friend noticed she was distracted and turned her head to follow her gaze. Her friend looked back at her, and no longer did appreciation light up her eyes. Now they held pity. Asta swallowed, disgusted by it.

"I have to admit I liked Greta's song last year better; she has a real talent," Asta blurted out.

Her friend's eyes darkened. "Oh? I think both songs were lovely."

Asta nodded. "Ah, well, I'm not really in the mood for celebration this year. I think I'm going to head home early." Her eyes flitted around, not wanting to look at her friend.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine! I would just rather be at home." She saw that white dress moving closer to them. "So, I'll see you tomorrow," Asta said as she started to walk away.

"Wait!" Her friend said, startled by her abrupt departure.

"I've got to leave now, but I promise I'll talk to you tomorrow!" Asta said over her shoulder as she continued to flee.

"Oh, well, okay," the friend stuttered, "I'll see you tomorrow then, take care."

Asta weaved through the crowd, her heart pounding. She needed some air. No, that's not right, she thought, she was already outside. She needed space, she needed to be alone. She walked towards the woods and chose a path that she knew would take her to a secluded clearing.

The woods were dark and cool, and her bare arms gathered goosebumps. The clearing had a scattering of tree stumps; she chose one that was in the path of a ray of sunlight. She sat down and hugged herself, an effort to both warm and comfort. She let the hot tears out that she had been holding in. The world is unfair. She was smiling and laughing with him while she was left alone to cry on a tree stump. She stared at the ground, her vision blurry, letting the sadness reverberate throughout her.

"What's wrong, child?"

The woman's voice caused her head to snap up. "Nothing," she said, furiously wiping her tears away.

"Oh, is that so?" The woman said with an air of amusement. She was dressed in a long black coat, her face obscured by a large hood. She sat down on a tree stump beside Asta. "Who is it?"

"Wh-what?"

"When we cry, we are often thinking about another, friend, foe, family... For whom are you crying?"

Asta sniffled, "I guess... that can be true. It's... a friend. I'm crying for my friend. A friend who does not appreciate my love. So much love that I give him!" The stranger sat silently, listening. "A harlot has seduced him," she spat. "She only wants him as a means to an end—an escape from her wretched family. They'll get married and move in together, and she will have trapped him into spending the rest of his life with her. It makes me sick to see him go down this path! Only I know this girl's true motives; everyone else is under her spell."

"You lie."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want this boy for yourself."

"What!? No, no, no, I have a husband who loves me very much. You've got it all wrong. It's concern for a friend that is the issue, nothing else."

"Oh, of course, I was mistaken, my apologies." Asta frowned at the playfulness in her voice. What kind of game was this stranger playing at? "Nonetheless, I believe I can help you."

Asta glared skeptically at the cloaked lady. "How?"

"I'm a witch, I know many spells." The witch waited for a reaction.

A few moments passed, and Asta spoke, "Go on."

"I believe a replacement spell would work best for your situation. Replace the harlot...with you."

Asta's face burned, but she grinned. She felt giddy. "And how, exactly, would this work? She would be...gone? And my friend...would appreciate me again?"

"Yes. She would disappear, and you would take her place. Your friend would look at you the same way he looks at her."

Asta tried to muffle her laugh. It sounded perfect! Perhaps the world could be fair at times. "Alright, what do I need to do?"

The witch produced a tiny vial of white liquid from within her coat. "Make sure she consumes this tonight. And meet me here tomorrow at dawn."

"Okay," Asta said as she took the vial gingerly in her hands, not wanting to break her chance at a better future. "And, what is your name?"

The witch laughed. "I prefer to be called 'the witch'."

Asta stood up and curtsied. "I thank the witch."

"Don't thank me yet, child. I will see you tomorrow."

* * *

Asta waited until evening to make her way back to the festival and propose a toast in honor of the sun greeter. The harlot toasted her back with the laced drink, "To my beautiful friend, Asta! May our friendship be blessed on this Midsummer day, and may we always succeed at keeping the darkness at bay!" She swallowed every last drop of the liquid.

The next morning, Asta made her way back to the clearing. She stopped in her tracks as she stepped out of the trees. The witch and the harlot were there. The harlot was unconscious and tied to a stone altar in the middle of the clearing, which hadn't been there yesterday. The witch was standing beside the altar, seemingly waiting.

"Good morning, Asta."

"Did the spell not work? What's going on? Why is she here?"

"Patience, the spell is almost complete. A ritual needs to take place. Come closer."

Asta walked over to the altar. She stared at the harlot's face, who looked like she was asleep. Breathing heavily, she asked, "What do we need to do now?"

The witch didn't hesitate. "You have to eat her."

"Huh?" Asta looked back and forth between them, her heart pounding, her palms growing slick with sweat. "What do you mean by 'eat'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." She materialized a butcher knife from her coat and held it out to Asta. "I suggest you take her clothes off, trim her hair, and get a fire going."

"Can't, can't you do it?" Asta asked desperately.

"Oh no, darling, it's got to be you if you're to be the replacement." She took the knife with a shaking hand. This was for a better future. For her happiness.

It took her twelve hours. The witch waited patiently on one of the tree stumps. It wasn't just the fact that she was consuming another human being, but that there was so much of it. Her belly was full to the bursting. The witch had warned her not to vomit; she needed to make sure it stayed down for the spell to work. By the time she was finished, night had fallen, and she was delirious and covered in blood. She passed out among the dirt and earthworms.

When she woke, the birds were singing, the sky was blue, and the witch was gone. She sat up; the altar was still there, and a body lay on top. She froze in terror, had yesterday's trial been only a dream? But no, it wasn't the harlot atop the table, but someone else. She stumbled to her feet for a better look. Who she saw was what she had seen in the mirror for years. It was her old body. The spell had worked!

Her hands flew to her head, and she combed her fingers through her long black hair. She took a deep breath in and smiled. Oh, she was so beautiful! She twirled around in glee, getting used to this lithe body. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw her.

She made her way through the forest, laughing and humming to herself. As she approached the edge of the forest, she saw a crowd of onlookers beyond the trees. People were probably worried about her, she thought. She had been gone for an entire day and night.

She emerged through the trees and waved. He ran to her and embraced her in his arms. It was the best feeling in the world. "I was so worried about!" he gasped, "what happened? You and Asta have been missing since the festival!" She realized she had to create a lie. So she did, one with half-truths, about having her drink spiked at the festival and blacking out. The crowd she saw was a search party, about to enter the forest. She recoiled when she saw her old husband's face among them, a wild look in his eyes. He spotted her and rushed over.

"Have you seen Asta at all since the festival?" he pleaded.

"N-no, I'm so sorry."

"Did she say anything to you at the festival? About meeting someone or going somewhere?"

"No, she didn't. We hardly spoke at all, except to make a toast."

Sadness pierced her chest. She didn't know that he cared so much.

"Come on," her new lover said, "Let's go home, you should get some rest." He took her by the hand and led her away from the forest towards the village. She took one last look behind her over her shoulder and said a silent goodbye to her old life. She gripped his hand and smiled. Everything she ever wanted was ahead of her.

* * *

When they found the body, her old husband's wails were heard throughout the village for days. Her lover was different in mourning, too. At first, she was flattered by the way her death had affected the townspeople. They had cared about her, and she basked in reminiscing about the memories people had of the old her. But soon it faded, as all things do with time. As did the love between her and him. She knew she wasn't the girl he fell in love with, but they were all not themselves after the tragic death of their friend. So she got away with it, for a time.

But the nightmares were relentless—the knife glinting in the sunlight, the blood, the smell of burnt flesh, her face. Living in her house with little reminders of her everywhere. One day, she found her journal, but she couldn't bring herself to open it. Deep in the back of her mind, she knew what she was afraid of. That theirs had been a true and pure love, that they had made each other happy, and she had been the one to destroy it.

The worst part was the way he looked at her. Like a garden pest that he thought he had eradicated, but it kept coming back so many times that he gave up on having a garden altogether. One day, he mentioned it, "You haven't been the same since Asta died. I'm worried about you, and I don't know what to do."

"I don't think there's anything that you can do. This... is just who I am now." She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back. His face was stone. And she felt her heart shatter. She knew he wouldn't leave her, even if he had fallen out of love, because it was just the kind of person he was. He didn't want to break anyone's heart.

She knew what she had to do. She was an abomination born of dark and evil magics. She did not deserve to exist. And, even though he didn't know it, he had already been grieving the loss of his true love. So, one morning, she walked into the forest, her feet carrying her to the place where she had done unspeakable things. And she scoured the forest floor for what she needed, gathering it in her knapsack. She walked into the clearing and sat on the same tree stump that she'd sat on when she took the vial from the witch.

She opened up her knapsack and began gorging herself on the things she had gathered from the forest—poison mushrooms. When the bag was empty, she dropped to her knees and looked up at the sky. The sunlight was streaming through the trees, the same way they had been that day. Tears streamed down her face, and her throat burned with emotion. She choked on her words, "Forgive me, Anya, my sister."