ex-witch ✔️ | g.w. post war

The aroma of freshly baked croissants mingled with the faint scent of coffee, a comforting blanket over the bustling sounds of la Deli boulangerie. Elinor, her hands deftly shaping dough, hummed a tuneless melody. The morning light streamed through the large front window, illuminating the fine dust of flour on her apron. It was a normal day, a good day. Exactly the kind of day she had meticulously built for herself, brick by mundane, delightful brick.

Then the bronze bell above the door chimed, announcing a new arrival. Elinor, with practiced ease, looked up, a bright, welcoming smile already forming on her lips.

"Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?" she greeted, her voice a cheerful echo of the bell.

A familiar face, Lionetta Darcy, stepped in, followed by her two daughters. Elinor was about to ask if she wanted the 'usual' when another woman, with flaming red hair and a warm, inquisitive smile, entered behind them. Elinor's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second. A shiver, cold and unwelcome, traced its way down her spine.

She knew that hair. She knew that smile. She knew that name. A name she had desperately tried to bury under layers of flour and forgetfulness.

"Oh, I'm old, I'm old!" the woman laughed, her voice carrying a comforting, yet unsettling, familiarity. "All of my children are of age already and I've been living here all my life. Just, suddenly interested in... baking... like this."

"What's your name?"

"Molly, dear."

Elinor's heart stopped. Not just 'Molly.' It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Her mind screamed in silent protest, battling against the resurfacing images, the painful memories she had so carefully locked away.