I would be lying to you or worse to myself if I were to claim that jealousy never strikes me. Of course I get jealous. I am a Wytch. Even with what I know and the obvious charms that I can work over men’s hearts, I have tasted jealousy. What is the motivation behind much magic that women, that Wytch’s wield? I’faith I would not be where I am now, if it was not for my jealousy, my lust for what I thought should be rightfully mine and for reaching out to claim it.
Who then is more deserving if not me? Even though I am a Wytch and play by different rules than most, and turn most women into creatures of unspeakable ugliness, do I not also turn myself into the same for doing so? However, when one is in the grips of the Green Eyed Dragon of Jealousy, you oft do not think about such things.
I have watched scores of women throw themselves at my lovers. Never mind that in some cases, the bonds are ones of blood and cannot be undone by the mere glance of a simpering coquette or a temptress. I have been called Hetaera, and as such being one of those who fully own and control our sexuality. We embrace and completely understand the power and potential of that. Hetaeras make love with whomever, wherever and whenever we choose, for reasons we consciously acknowledge for results we alone skillfully control. Even living within a world that is built around sensuality of the body, mind and spirit, jealousy can come. E’en when Life itself becomes an ecstatic ritual of experiencing the deepest part of what is sensuous and sensual – one can know the pangs of envy and hatred toward someone or something that is taking away from that most carefully constructed facade. Woe to them, for these impetuous creatures know not where they play nor just whom they play with. And he, (and it is usually a he) to infer that he has no part in this would be foolish indeed.
What have I done to deal with it? Well, I have done a variety of things. I have been known to have wrought magicks both small and perhaps a bit more involved in the name of what I would suppose are my more jealous moments. I have at times thrown a rival’s name into a mirror so that she and her would-be lover sees her for exactly what she is, and I have been known to go as far as to make a woman’s breasts or chin melt like candle wax held too close to a flame. Pity. They really shouldn’t play with things that don’t belong to them. Perhaps such things are unworthy of a Wytch and Lady of the Fortunate Isle, but certainly more than appealing to my Fae blood! We have a penchant for trickery and getting even with those whom we are jealous of.
There was one particular incident whereby my lover had been pursued by a lass that liked to feign her innocence so that she might appeal to his protective male nature. Her devisement worked and I was feeling a bit neglected. So I devised to have a maid come to their chamber and snatch his breeches, and have them made a bit larger. How odd when he got dressed, it would seem that their amorous exertions caused him to shrink. The first time he most probably wrote it off to his imagination. When again they met, I again had the maid borrow his breeches and a new pair was made exactly the same way. Again he was seemingly smaller. Of course the implication was that he was either sickly, or his male attributes were in fact were waning after all. Being the kind of woman that she was, she dropped him for another. When he came to his senses and came to see me for a bit of reassurance and for a charm to win back that bit of himself which he thought that he might have lost, I have to admit, it did feel rather good to have been so successful in assuaging my jealousy upon him.
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction
Word Count: 711
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