Weyward

by Emilia Hart

We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those who speak it, not those it describes. A word that builds gallows and pyres, turns breathing women into corpses.

She was here, in her mother’s house, closer to her than she had been in years, and yet she had never felt so alone in her life.

I hear her cries echoing through those yellow walls.

Yellow Wallpaper reference?