witch's hat - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The witch couldn't abide sewing and with the dwindling of witches choosing traditional clothing her options were quite limited. She had been reduced to shopping at a fancy dress store. If the coven could see her now she'd never live it down. She tried on a hat. Nylon. She spat in protest, much to the horror of the young assistant. She sniffed it. Just plastic. Then she raised her wand to test it with a little fire. With an unprofessional yelp she leapt backwards, the darn thing was flammable. How could a witch work in something that caught fire? Didn't they know how many spells made sparks?
The witch's hat had gotten too old and she didn't know how to tell it. It had been fraying for the best part of a century but now the stitching around the brim was coming away and even magic couldn't repair it. The once midnight blue fabric was almost an embarrassing navy and the pointed top drooped worse than a well used sock.
The witches hat lay crumpled in the corner of the library. It was near Halloween and the staff assumed a child had left it and would be back to fetch it. It bore the appearance of mass produced nylon costume accessory, but in truth it had been bewitched to appear that way. Were the enchantment to lift you would see it as it really was, threaded from the skin of frogs and smeared with thousands of spider legs. It was in search of a new witch, it's previous owner having died whist sampling a new experimental potion. Whoever was to place it on their head next would become the new witch of the dark forest. They would be transported there the moment it bonded to their scalp to begin the transformation. It was excited but it sat there quite still so as not to arouse suspicion.
The witch's had never cast a shadow because it was never really there at all. It existed in the realm of magic and was more an ambassador from that world than a real item in ours. The feel of its fabric was merely a controlled hallucination given a texture. When it's witch died it brought a new one from the other realm, usually a criminal the others wanted rid of.
The witch's hat was as black as any other, but not because the fabric was black. It was really not a colour at all, just an absence of light. Every ray that fell upon it was sucked in and kept. These whole rays supplied not only energy but the key to the witch's magical abilities. Without her hat she was quite ordinary, with it she was extraordinary, powerful enough to dominate the coven.
It was mid-afternoon about 3pm. In front of me I saw what looked like a classic witch's hat on the ground. I walked over to it looking around expecting someone was about to claim it but no one did. I picked it up. It was heavier than I expected. In my hands its appearance already seemed a little magical. My fingertips brushed the lining as I rotated it round. It was a black cloth with lots of cobwebs almost ground into the fabric, like it had been hidden in an old attic for years. I clasp the hat with both hands and thought about putting it on. I grinned a little at the idea. I raise it slowly above my head like a crown, I slowly lowered it down on to my head.
It was already dark and I decided to head back home. I set off walking alone down the poorly lit street. A figure in the distance caught my attention. My eyes still adjusting to the darkness, they narrowed. I couldn't make out who or what was in the distance other than a figure dressed in black with their back to me. I could see they were wearing a large hat. My curiosity grew stronger as I walked closer. The street lighting made harsh shadows and this person's hat was casting a shadow concealing their face. As I approached their head turned away, almost looking down towards the ground, I could see puffs of grey tangled hair poking over their shoulders weighed down by the unusual hat. It looked velvety, but very worn, and crooked. Then it struck me as I approached, the hat was slowly pulsating. I looked to the ground, I could see the pavement covered in small spiders, slugs, just like a turned over garden rock, they were dripping from the hat to the ground, crawling in all directions.
Crumpled, bent tip, slipping over one eye, shimmering, sparkling, moon and stars pattern, straight and pointed, wide brim, floppy brim, cone shaped, velvety, mumbling spells to itself, tiny, narrow, pathetic piece of battered and tatty cloth, thread bare, patched.