The dancing, licking, crackling flames grew ever higher in the charred witches’ pot; convincing her they would writhe and rise above the rim.
And yet, they did not.
To a mirrored dance within her fascinated gaze, the fire merely danced and licked and crackled ’round its assigned artifact: the last human’s heart.
Yes, she breathed.
Hardly blinking, she and shifting wall shadows watched the smoky Samba churn and char the once-beating organ to a new and better form.
Gasping at the fresh-forged heat, she reached in to eagerly release her new heart.
©2019 Chelsea Owens