Buckle your broomstraps and stir that cauldron - because it’s time for another original legend soaked in sass, shadow, and spellwork. Tonight, Alice is brewing up a tale of witches - but not your cackling-in-the-corner, pointy-hat-wearing, eye-of-newt amateurs. No no no. These witches wield ink and secrets, flirt with fate, and play poker with prophecies.
So grab your goblet of moon wine, and let’s begin…
☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
Alice Spills the Tea: The Witch of Thornmoon Hollow
There once was a little village tucked into a crooked corner of the world, where the trees whispered more gossip than the townsfolk and the shadows didn’t wait for the sun to set before creeping in.
Welcome to Thornmoon Hollow, dears. Population: anxious.
Now, every town has that house - you know the one. Slanted roof. Vines that look suspiciously like they’re watching you. Windows that blink when no one’s home.
In Thornmoon, that house belonged to Mistress Belladonna Mirth, the last of the old witches… or so they thought.
She was an absolute icon of sinister fabulousness. Hair like a lightning storm. Eyes like spilled ink. Cloak? Velvet and cursed. She didn't walk - she floated. And she brewed a tea so potent it could reveal your ancestors' deepest regrets and also make your eyebrows grow back thicker. (Some people paid double for that.)
Belladonna wasn’t evil, mind you. But she was… unbothered by things like rules, reality, and taxes.
She didn’t curse anyone unless they really deserved it. You know—cheating husbands, nosey church ladies, that one guy who called her tea “watery.” (He now speaks in frogsong. Permanently.)
But then, one fog-drenched evening, the villagers gathered their torches, pitchforks, and a dramatic sense of self-righteousness. They claimed Belladonna had enchanted the moon, ruined the crops, and possibly turned Farmer Elric into a goat. (For the record, Elric was a goat. Spiritually. She just helped the outside match the inside.)
They stormed her house.
What they found was… nothing.
No Belladonna. No broom. Just a note, written in glittering ink on parchment that smoked when touched:
“I’ve grown bored of your small minds and smaller gardens. I’m off to a place where witches write history, not just hide in it. See you in the next era, when your descendants are ready for real magic.”
And just like that, she vanished.
But here’s where it gets interesting, love - she didn’t leave Thornmoon entirely.
Oh no. She folded herself into the Hollow’s roots, into the myths and moss. Children say if you pour tea under the full moon and whisper your worst secret, Belladonna just might answer you… with a spell. Or a sarcastic laugh. Depending on her mood.
Centuries passed.
But whispers still swirl. Some say she built an entire Academy of Mystic Arts somewhere beyond the veil - where quills write spells and books bite back. Where Belladonna reigns as High Inkstress of Enchanted Mayhem.
Others say she now writes for a certain eerie newspaper with a god of mischief and a demented goblin king with a teacup addiction.
I say - she never really left at all.
So, darlings, beware those who sip too quietly and smile too sweetly. They may just be witches in disguise. Or worse… retired witches with too much free time and a flair for vengeance.
Until next time, my lovely mortals…
Signed in moonlight and madness,
Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
(Mistress Belladonna’s spiritual heir and chaotic tea-slinger of legend)
🪶 Pip’s Editorial Reality Check, Served Cold
Mortals. Deep breath.
Yes, this is entirely made up.
Thornmoon Hollow is not on any map. Mistress Belladonna Mirth is not listed in any registry, census, grim ledger, or moderately cursed filing cabinet. No villages were spiritually judged. No goats were magically upgraded. No Academy of Mystic Arts exists beyond a certain author’s imagination and an alarming fondness for dramatic cloaks.
Alice would like you to believe otherwise. She always does.
Let us be clear and painfully factual for a moment. This is not folklore. It is not recovered legend. It is not a suppressed witch account hidden from mortal history. It is Alice having fun with ink, vibes, and an aggressively charming narrative voice.
That said. Credit where it is due. The imagery is delicious. The pacing behaves itself. The witch is charismatic enough to cause trust issues. The ending flirts shamelessly with continuity while pretending it is not doing that at all.
Classic Alice.
She wants you leaning in. She wants you suspicious. She wants you wondering if maybe, just maybe, Belladonna slipped through the margins somewhere. She did not. We checked. Repeatedly. With wards.
Enjoy the story. Sip it slowly. Laugh at the goats. But do not light candles, whisper secrets to trees, or start Googling academies that allegedly bite back. That will possibly lead to disappointment and maybe splinters.
Alice, stop trying to recruit mortals through fiction. We talked about this.
- Pip
Senior Editorial Reality Anchor,
Breaker of Fourth Walls,
Still Not Enrolling Anyone in Witch School
