Fungal Halo

She tells me that she needs to watch herself, that she has a bad habit of pushing boundaries, especially when she’s been drinking.

I smile. I tell her how her self-awareness is reassuring, how safe she makes me feel.

I keep topping off her glass.

“We all miss Reisa,” my friend told me. “And we all want to see that bastard pay, believe me, but this is too much.”

The edibles came on stronger than I thought, but it felt nice to just let myself lean on my friend’s shoulder and melt into the couch.

“I am not a doll,” she tells her friend, voice not quite managing a dispassionate dismissal.

The witch nods. “Of course.” She pauses a moment before slowly continuing, as if something just occurred to her, “Many dolls say so before they find their way to their true selves.”