Day by day, the flickering spread. It crept from her toes to her knees, from her fingertips to her elbows.

“It’s the witch’s curse,” Ivy said to Shilling. “She told me I would disappear, and now I am.”

She read through every page of every book her gran had owned, but none of them contained advice on how to reverse a witch’s curse.

The days passed, and Ivy’s heart welled with sorrow until not a crumb of hope was to be found in Poppy Cottage.

Then one night, there came a pounding at her door. Afraid it was the witch, Ivy peered out her window to see half the village standing in front of the cottage. The pounding came again. She opened her door, for if she did not, the villagers would surely break it down.

“Yes?” she said, keeping far back from the light of their torches. She prayed to the shadows to keep her secret.

A man with the chest of three men stepped forward. Ivy recognized him as the baker. “Are you the remedy woman’s girl?” he growled.

“I’m her granddaughter,” said Ivy.

“We’ve heard strange stirrings coming from this cottage,” he said. “Moaning and howling.”

“And now,” said a boy, stepping forward, “my sister says that the remedy woman is dead.”

After all these years, Ivy recognized his laughing blue eyes. A mean light danced in them now. His sister—the one who had brought the pie—stood next to him, eyes downcast.

“That’s not all she tells, neither,” said the baker. “She says you’ve got no shadow. Is it true? Step out into the light where we can see you, girl.”

Shilling growled, but Ivy could see that the villagers had weapons that flashed in the glow of the torches. “Be still, Shilling,” she said.

She took a step out of the house, and as she did, she felt her whole body flicker. A gasp rose up among the villagers.

“She’s unnatural!” cried one.

“She’s freakish!” shouted another.

“She’s wicked!” yelled a third.

“No,” said the baker, his lip curling. “She’s cursed. And as long as she stays here, her curse will keep spreading. Rotting our crops, sickening our children, poisoning our wells.”

Ivy said nothing. The man was right. She was cursed. And perhaps it would spread. What did she know of curses? Her gran had not bothered to teach her about such matters.

“Go,” the man said. He pointed toward the forest. “Go now, and do not return here. You will not be welcome.”

Ivy did not move. Inside the cottage were Gran’s things. Her books. Her remedy jars. All that Ivy had left of her.