Vyska

When Ulrika offered her eyes in exchange for magic, Vyska's tears fell like asteroids to the moon's surface in the depths of the well. The moon was not pleased with its new craters. It punished Vyska with responsibility for the pockmarks she had made on its face, and for the ones that would soon be made on her sister's face. It sent her to meet with the witch that very morning. Vyska did not play at pleasantry. She asked the witch to name a new price. The witch scowled. She begged the witch not to claim the price she had named. The witch smiled. She threatened to have the witch hanged. The witch laughed. Over and over, as the dawn blended fresh bruise with older-sister-kohl, her words had as much power to sway the witch as the breath that formed them had power to blow her over. She could have danced like a bear. She could have farted like a mummer. The witch might really have laughed at that. Still, Vyska did find something worth doing that morning. It was just no laughing matter...