Becoming Your Own Deadly Love Rival

The young Maid cards the fibres. The Mother spins the fibres into thread. The Crone cuts the thread, Of every person's life. The Crone also whistles between her teeth and taps her foot idly. After a few hundred years the young maid snaps at her, “Please will you STOP doing that!” “It is very annoying and distracting”   “Well excuse me for breathing!” Snapped the old lady back   “You do not breath!” glared the maid. “None of us breath” “None of us have EVER breathed!” “Which means that whistling between your teeth is only done to annoy me!”   “Well, At least I don’t smell like a w***e!” Scolded the Crone. “Why all the exotic perfume?” “Even if the occasional hero comes here in a dream!” “You are a MAID.” “M – A – I – D!” “You are now and forevermore ‘THE’ Maid!” the old women cackled. “You cannot even flirt with them!” “Look up your own job title definition b***h!”   There was an audible sigh from the centre of the room. The Crone and the Maid simultaneously shouted and snapped at the Mother who was sat between them. The Matron of the three was supposed to be spinning the threads of lives from the fibres of time. “WHAT!” they both shouted together! “Nothing…” She wistfully said. “When you two argue, it can make me lose my place, sometimes.” She moaned.   “Not a problem,” Said the crone “Just redo it”   “It’s too late now,” Said the Mother, “You have already cut your end!”   “Just shove it back in! Silly Woman!” Said the Crone “No one will notice!”   “We are….” Started The Maid   “Waaaa Waaa Waaah” Mocked the Crone. “We are not supposed to do that! Waaaa Waaa Waaah!” Said the Crone in a high squeaky parody of the Maid’s voice.” “No one cares…!”   The Matron obeyed and did the quick patch-up job on the threads of time and space… …Again.   The room fell silent for a few hundred years,   Then the Crone started whistling through her teeth again as she snipped threads of mortal lives as they came away from the spinning wheel. A few hundred years more and her foot started to idly tap again.   The crowd had gathered. There was a large bonfire in the village square. Most of the villages had brought marshmallows. Some of the more inventive ones have even brought some Barbecue Sauce! There were stallholders and souvenir sellers, offering little female dolls in black clothes and with pointy hats for sale. There were fire jugglers, acrobats, and singers And of course, there was the main, incredibly attractive, attraction. The extremely pretty forty-year-old woman. She was so pale-skinned it was almost porcelain blue, with bright sky-blue eyes and long straight raven black hair. She was dressed all in black and looked down upon the celebrations from a good vantage point from above! The people looked up at her and smiled but she was not able to wave back at this moment. She had a very large stake in these celebrations.   Unfortunately, she was tied to that very large stake on top of the bonfire. She did not wave because her curvy form was made to seem even curvier despite the baggy black clothes, due to the tight thick ropes that bound her tightly to that aforementioned stake. The crowd that smiled up at the were not giving pleasant smiles. These were not smiles that said, “I like you” Instead, these were smiles that said, “I hate you and I am glad they are burning you alive!”   The Band reached a crescendo and the crowd cheered. A man of duty, a Witchfinder, slowly walked up the path in a procession. He was dark-skinned like old comforting brown leather. He was broad and muscular. His eyes were hazel and stern. His shoulder-length hair was as black as hers, but the strands were thicker with a natural curl to them. He found the celebration distasteful. He found those who had brought the barbecue sauce to taste the witch’s cure-all roasted flesh disgusting. He did not want to kill her. But he was a man of duty. He was a man of higher things. His feeling did not matter, only his duty did. But after this, he was quitting. He was quitting for good this time!   As he heard the charges re-read by the Village Elder. Charges of witchcraft. He kept his eyes fixed on hers. She stared back unflinchingly, showing no fear. The Witchfinder laid the torch down on the pile of wood and watched the flames climb. They kept their eyes locked and she silently mouthed some words at him. Many villages saw her mouth move in silent motion. Many suspected that she had laid a powerful curse on the Witchfinder She did not scream. She just passed out and burned. And the Old Crone of time cut the thread of the witches' life.   Decades later. That same Witchfinder, now grey-haired. Sat under the apple tree on his land and wept yet again. He had a large parcel of once good land, that had now become a wasteland. It was more land than a single man could handle on his own. Although many women had tried, none had managed to marry him. As he got older the land became more and more neglected. Many villages blamed the silent curse of his last witch for the ruination of his property. Many more blamed the silent curse of his last witch for his inability to marry and find happiness. They were all partly correct. But her silent words were not any form of a curse, They were instead a silent declaration. But not of any form of revenge. He had read her lips. They had mouthed “I still love you” Their locked stare had not been one of hatred but of longing. Then she bit down on the suicide pill hidden in her mouth to spare herself the agony of burning. The pill that he had smuggled to her.   This now, the old man wept again at the base of the old apple tree. The tree where they had first kissed. The tree where he had managed to bury what few bodily remains of hers he could secretly gather. He cried for the last time. For his lost love, For her, And for the unborn twins of his that she had carried.   His broken heart ached one too many times in the old man’s frame. Full of forty years of constant emotional pain and regret, the old ex-witchfinder finally keeled over and died.   As his brain's, final lights flicked and went out… He heard and saw strange things. The dreams of the dying. There was an irritating whistling. And the annoying tapping of a foot. Some sort of argument between women. One voice young while the other was old! Then there was a third voice, A female matronly voice that was neither young nor old, but somewhere in the middle. “When you two argue, it can make me lose my place, sometimes.” She moaned.   “Not a problem,” Said the old female voice “Just redo it”   “SNIP!” went some scissors! The last beat of his heart had stopped   “It’s too late now,” Said the middle woman “You have already cut your end!”   “Just shove it back in! Silly Woman!” Said the old Woman. “No one will notice!”   “We are….” Started to say the young one.   “Waaaa Waaa Waaah” Mocked an ancient voice. “We are not supposed to do that! Waaaa Waaa Waaah!” It went on “No one cares…!”   Then the old man opened his eyes. He was not dead! Or old! Or a man anymore!