Sometimes One-Fold is Enough

The third witch had a leg up in law school, because she’d spent so much time reading trial transcripts from the Inquisition in undergrad. There was a bit of fencing that insulted her, an iron barrier between the little mystic coffee shop she enjoyed and the world-renown restaurant next door. Because heaven forbid good folks accidentally wander over.

She always went out front to smoke right by that little length of fence. And she would whisper to the fence, every day, “May you be received in the spirit in which you were given.”

Eventually, the fence came down.

“It was so ugly,” the chef said. “Did you see how ugly it was?”

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