The Witch's Price

Once upon a time, in the city of Shkoder, there lived a powerful witch whose name was lost to time. She was said to possess magical powers beyond any other human, and could control the elements with a flick of her wrist. The people of the city feared and respected her in equal measure, for they knew that she could use her powers for good or ill.

The witch lived alone in a small cottage on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by a dense forest that few dared to enter. Her reputation preceded her, and even the bravest of souls thought twice before approaching her door. Some whispered that she was in league with the devil, while others claimed that she was a force of nature, as old as the mountains themselves.

Despite the fear that she inspired, the witch was not unkind. She would sometimes offer her services to those in need, healing the sick or helping the poor. But her methods were often unorthodox, and many would-be patients were too afraid to approach her.

One day, a young woman named Elira found herself in desperate need of the witch's help. Her husband had fallen gravely ill, and the local healers could do nothing to save him. Elira had heard whispers of the witch's powers, and though she was frightened, she knew that she had to try.

She made her way to the edge of the forest, where the witch's cottage stood among the trees. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the sound of crows cawing in the distance. Elira's heart raced as she approached the door, wondering what she would find inside.

The witch answered her knock, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What brings you to my door, child?" she asked.

Elira explained her situation, tears streaming down her face. The witch listened quietly, her eyes seeming to bore into Elira's soul. When the young woman had finished, the witch nodded thoughtfully.

"I can help your husband," she said at last. "But you must be prepared to pay the price."

Elira did not hesitate. She would have done anything to save her husband's life.

The witch led her into a dimly-lit room, where a fire burned low in the hearth. She set to work immediately, chanting and muttering in a language that Elira could not understand. She drew symbols on the ground with a stick, and lit candles that flickered in the shadows.

As the hours passed, Elira grew more and more uneasy. The witch's movements were graceful and fluid, but there was something about her that made Elira's skin crawl. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a darkness there, a sense of malice that seemed to seep from the very walls of the cottage.

At last, the witch stood up, wiping her hands on her skirt. "It is done," she said, turning to face Elira. "Your husband will recover."

Elira felt a wave of relief wash over her. She thanked the witch profusely, and offered her a small bag of coins as payment. But the witch merely shook her head.

"The price has already been paid," she said cryptically. "You will know it when the time comes."

With that, she ushered Elira out of the cottage, and shut the door firmly behind her. Elira made her way home, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Her husband did recover, as the witch had promised, and life returned to something like normal.

But then strange things began to happen. At first, it was just small things – a vase falling off a shelf, a shadow moving in the corner of her eye. But as time went on, the incidents grew more frequent and more sinister. Elira would wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that she could feel someone watching her. The crops in her garden withered and died, despite her best efforts to save them. And worst of all, her husband began to behave strangely, speaking in tongues and seeing things that weren't there.

At first, Elira tried to ignore these signs. She told herself that it was just her imagination, that her husband was still recovering from his illness. But deep down, she knew that something was very, very wrong.

One day, she could take it no longer. She made her way back to the witch's cottage, determined to find out what was happening to her and her family. When she knocked on the door, the witch answered immediately, as if she had been expecting her.

"What do you want, child?" she asked, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

Elira poured out her story, telling the witch about the strange occurrences that had been plaguing her and her family since the day she had come to her for help. The witch listened carefully, nodding at all the right moments.

When Elira had finished, the witch leaned in close, her voice low and dangerous. "I told you that there would be a price," she said. "And now you must pay it."

Elira's heart sank. She had known that there would be a cost for the witch's help, but she had never imagined that it would be like this.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The witch leaned back, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I want your firstborn child," she said, her eyes glittering with malice.

Elira felt her blood run cold. This was too much to bear. She had never imagined that the price would be so high.

"I can't do that," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "Please, there must be another way."

But the witch was unmoved. "The price has been set," she said. "And it must be paid."

Elira stumbled out of the cottage, her mind reeling. She knew that she could not give up her child. But she also knew that the witch's powers were too great to ignore. She was trapped, with no way out.

As the days passed, Elira became more and more desperate. She could feel the witch's power closing in on her, suffocating her with its dark embrace. She knew that she had to do something, anything, to save herself and her family.

And so, one dark and moonless night, she made her way back to the witch's cottage, a small dagger clutched tightly in her hand. She knew that this was a dangerous game, but she had no other choice.

When she knocked on the door, the witch answered immediately, as if she had been waiting for her.

"What do you want now, child?" she asked, a sly smile on her lips.

Elira took a deep breath, and plunged the dagger into the witch's chest.

The witch let out a terrible scream, her body writhing in agony. Elira stood frozen, watching as the witch's eyes grew dark and empty, and her body went still.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, slowly, Elira realized that the air around her was shifting, as if a great weight had been lifted. She felt a sense of peace wash over her, as if she had been reborn.

And then she knew. The price had been paid, and the witch's power had been broken.

Elira made her way home, her heart light and free. She knew that she would have to live with what she had done for the rest of her life, but she also knew that it had been necessary. The witch's hold on her and her family had been too strong to break any other way.

As the years passed, Elira's family flourished. Her husband recovered from his illness, and their crops grew tall and strong once again. They had more children, and each one was born healthy and strong.

But there was always a shadow over their lives, a reminder of what had been done to break the witch's hold. And as Elira grew old, she often wondered if she had made the right choice.

In the end, though, she knew that she had. The witch's power had been broken, and her family was safe. And that was all that mattered.