Grab Me By The Heart.
Pandora, the witch, had no name.
No that she needed a name. She was happy enough without one. Everyone else used to call her Pandora because she had that little wooden box she could carry around everywhere she went. And the witch went to a lot of places, seemingly floating on air. People were much more comfortable with things that had names.
People would greet her when they saw her pass by. Not because she was so much liked though but because everyone knew that witches were a dangerous breed. No one could say why exactly but everyone knew that. It was common lore. Keep out of the way of witches. They were scared of Pandora.
Every once in a while some man or woman would go to her house and ask her for the kind of advice only witches were supposed to give. Pandora invited them in, offered them a cup of dark tea and a biscuit and gave them the advice to go home and not bother her ever again. No one would have dared to argue with the nameless one.
She was a beautiful woman, if a woman at all she was. Her skin and hair were fair, her face young and proud, and her movements were aristocratic. Every single man would have fallen for her unnatural beauty if they hadn’t been so afraid of her. The old eventually declared that such incredible beauty could only be demonic and yet they envied the very air that brushed her body.
What she kept in that small wooden box was a matter of wild discussion. Matches said some, fingers said others. Frogs’ eyes and salamanders’ legs were also widely accepted theories, as were fae hair and goblin nails. Some suggested it could be just food, which was received with cold shudders from everyone present.
They were all wrong by the way. All of them. Except for one who claimed that what was kept in that box could be nothing else but love. When confronted with the argument that love could never be kept in a box, the old man with the scar on his chest would only shrug and say "love can be gathered in many receptacles. Don’t ask me how I know, I just know. You guys know nothing." Which was of course ridiculous. So ridiculous probably that no one in the room could come up with an appropriate comment.
And yet, one day a girl, or young woman rather, found her way to the witch’s house. The woman was of delicate stature, with big eyes and a shy mouth. It was evident that she was nervous and even a little scared perhaps.
Cautiously she eyed the herbs and flowers that grew in the garden. Some looked crooked and sick, others were manifestations of pure beauty. She wondered what the crooked ones were for and if the blood red flowers were used for love spells.
She was suddenly startled when a graceful black cat landed right in front of her. Many seconds passed before she could hear anything except her heart pounding in her ears. Was this a demon in beast form? The cat looked at her with bright yellow eyes. Her gaze seemed curious and confident. The woman began to feel like an intruder. And she could swear that there was a fleeting shade of grey in those irises.
After long moment of staring, the cat looked away, disinterested. In no hurry she raised one paw, licked it and started washing her ears. It was a display of superiority. The cat was not afraid of her.
Suddenly stopping in mid motion, the cat sniffed the air. Then let out a low muffled croak that almost sounded like an affirmative answer to a silent question. The woman wondered if this devil was communicating with evil spirits. Her hand closed around the cross in her pocket.
Resolved to either knock or leave, she raised her smooth fist to the door. But it was opened before she could do anything. And the woman now found herself face to face with the nameless witch that everyone called Pandora. She didn’t dare to breathe.
Grey eyes looked inquiringly through hers, all the way into her very soul. She felt like a book that lay open in an abandoned library. The sensation was not utterly unpleasant though. At a very deep level she felt... understood.
"What do you want?"
The woman swallowed. The tone was weary yet commanding. She gathered the last remains of her strength.
"I..."
The way these endless eyes never strayed from their focus made her weak.
"I am... my name is..."
"I didn’t ask for your name," the witch stated matter-of-factly. "And I’m not interested in it. Tell me what you want from me."
The woman’s hand began to tremble. "Or you will hurt me?" The witch looked away. The pressure was leaving.
"I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to..." She added weakly. "I need your help. Please?"
"How could someone like me possibly help you? You know who I am."
The woman nodded. "That’s why I came to you. Please..."
For a long time the witch stood there, motionless. Then she turned and went inside, leaving the door open. After some hesitation the young woman followed her. She didn’t care if she could be condemned to hell for this. It couldn’t be worse than now.
When she entered the big wooden room with the low ceiling the witch was already sitting in a dark chair. There was a crude wooden box placed in her lap that she held with both hands. Self-consciously the woman looked for another chair to sit on but found nothing. She would have to stand. Her own hands were cramped like a knot.
She knew that she should say something now.
"Um... this is a very nice room." She almost choked on the last word when she beheld the mouse peering down on her from a dusty cupboard. The witch remained silent.
"All right, I will get straight to the point then. There is a boy.... or young man rather. I love him. And I thought... maybe you could do something with him?" Another moment of silence. "I mean... nothing bad or anything. Just make him love me again." After a few seconds she added. "He loved me once."
There was still no visible motion in the witch’s face. A minute must have passed before she finally spoke.
"No."
The woman looked at her in disbelief. "What do you mean no? Don’t you at least want to consider it?"
"I did. My answer is no."
"I have money. And a few other things... silver and some gold. I need your help..."
"Go home now. I will not help you."
"You have to! Isn’t this what witches do? Use the devil’s force to help people?"
There was silence again, only this one was deeper. At the edge of perception a very low thumping sound echoed through the room. The woman immediately regretted her words. She was not ready to die yet. Not like this.
"Is that what they say about me these days?" The witch’s voice sounded very tired. "That I’m a witch? That I use the devil’s force?"
The woman didn’t know what to say. She noticed that the other one held a little tighter to the wooden box now. Not to keep it shut but rather to keep it close.
"I didn’t mean to upset you," the woman said. "Will you hurt me now?"
The witch held her with her gaze for a while. Then she turned away.
"Go away. Leave me alone. I will not hurt you."
For a moment the woman was so relieved that she began to head for the door. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave like this. For where could she possibly go?
"I beg you. I will do anything you want. Just give me back my beloved one."
A dry smile showed on the witch’s lips. "Girl. I cannot give you love. Not like this at least. There is no way. Love cannot be made. It is a force of its own. Yes, I could make a man want you. Desire you. I could make him lose his mind, mad with longing for you. I could make you his only compulsion, his fever and passion. But it would not be love."
She rose now, holding the box securely in her fine white hands. "And I wouldn’t do it anyway. You don’t play with things like these. I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. Go now."
"But he loved me once, he did!" Emotions began to break to the surface now. Her eyes were shimmering. "He loved me."
"Don’t use this word lightly, child. It means too much."
"I don’t use it lightly. He really loved me, I know. It wasn’t always like this. But something... happened. And I lost him. But I can’t live without him." She held her face with her trembling hands. "It hurts."
The witch watched her closely. There was something new in those eyes now, mixing with the grey. It was not really a colour. Her fingers tensed on the wood of the small box, holding tight to it like to a lover. Seeking comfort.
After the young woman’s sobs subsided the witch spoke to her, in a slightly different tone now. Her voice was warm and gentle.
"How do you know that he loved you?"
The woman looked at her. Her eyes were red and swollen and her hands were wet from tears.
"I just know. I felt it when he held me, when he spoke to me. When he said my name. Like he saw the whole world in me. Or... a world..." She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory and the pain that came with it. "I just know."
The witch nodded slowly. Her hand caressed the old box.
"I will help you."
Before the other could respond she went on. "Make no mistake. It will not be easy. And there is always a price."
"I don’t care," said the woman. "I will do anything. I need to have him back. No price is too high."
The witch said nothing. But these words seemed to have an effect on her for she let her gaze drop for a second. The girl noticed.
"All right," said the nameless one finally. "I will try to bring him back to you. I can’t promise that it will work. Maybe he doesn’t love you."
"He does! I know he does!"
"Good for you then. However, if he doesn’t, nothing in this world can bring him back. I will try. But I can’t do it alone. You will have to do something for me."
"Is that the price you were talking about?"
"No. That is just your part of the ritual, the one I can’t perform. The price... you will see."
The young woman nodded. She was desperate. Prepared to go to hell if necessary.
"So, what do you want me to do?"
From a bag the witch produced an rugged knife and lay it in the woman’s hand. Its blade was black like old blood, the handle carved out of some rough horn.
"Cut his heart out while he sleeps and bring it to me."
The woman stared at the knife in horror, prepared to let it drop.
"What? No! I can’t... I can’t kill him..."
"You won’t kill him," said the witch securely. "This is a very special blade and a very special task. As long as his heart beats he will live."
"And how long is that?"
The witch hesitated for a moment. A shadow crossed her face.
"A very long time."
Reluctantly the woman inspected the blade. She couldn’t find anything special about it. It was blunt.
"And it won’t hurt him?" she asked.
"Oh yes, it will," said the witch. "It will hurt quite a lot. After all you’re going to cut out his beating heart. That hurts." She took the woman’s hand. "Are you prepared to do that? To hurt him like that?"
The woman’s eyes flickered, the pain showing behind them. She didn’t want this.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"Good. Go now. Bring it to me. And I will see what I can do."
Determined, the woman hid the knife between her garments. No one could see it now.
"Is that all?"
"No. But it’s all I’m going to tell you for now."
With a last nod the woman left. The nameless witch looked after her for a while before her grey eyes began to fill with tears. For an endless time the cat looked at her, knowing that there was nothing she could do to comfort her mistress. Among the tears of sorrow were also tears of hope and happiness.
The next day the woman returned. This time she didn’t hesitate to enter. The witch was already awaiting her. She held out her hands.
From under her blood smeared garments the young woman came up with the still beating heart of her lover and placed it in the hands of the witch. Her face was empty and expressionless.
"Can you begin now?" she asked in a fragile tone. Then her wet hands suddenly began to tremble violently and her whole body broke in on itself. The choked sobs went on for a while. The witch walked over to the kitchen and put the heart on a wooden tray.
When the woman looked up again her face was covered with blood from her hands.
"I could feel it. When I was cutting out his heart... it was like I was cutting out my own."
"What did you expect?" said the witch as she wiped off her hands. "You love him." From a small drawer she took out scissors and another knife with which she gradually sliced the heart open. This process took some time. Mistakes could prove fatal. Or worse.
"What are you doing?" asked the woman who had found the strength to get up again.
"I cut it open. I want to look into the heart." As the young one approached from behind she added "you might not want to see this."
The woman placed herself beside the witch, watching the operation. "I want to see it."
When it was finally open the witch spread the two halves apart and looked at the inside. She seemed to look at it for a very long time.
"Nothing," she said.
"What?" The woman didn’t know what that meant but she certainly didn’t like the sound of it. "What do you mean by nothing?"
"There is nothing in here. There is nothing wrong with his heart but neither is there... anything else."
For a second the woman’s heart seemed to stop beating. Then it came back with full force, hammering aggressively against her chest. "No..."
"Wait."
Carefully the witch bowed down a little, closer to the heart. "Do you see that?"
The woman stared at the heart, confused. "What?"
With her index finger the nameless one pointed at a small area at the heart’s basis. It was slightly paler than the rest. "You can barely see it. Hold this." She gave the other one the knife.
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"You’ll see."
The scissors’ blades dug into the pale spot and cut through the tissue. When she was done the witch seemed to hesitate for a moment. The woman wondered what was wrong but didn’t dare to ask. She watched expectantly as the witch spread the small cut with two fingers and peeked in. There was only blackness.
They both recoiled as a pair of black hairy legs came out of the hole. It was followed by a body that crept across the heart. Both woman watched the blood covered bug as it slowly moved towards the wood. It was a disgustingly slow process. But they waited patiently.
"Now," the witch whispered. The knife went down and impaled the black thing, leaving the heart untouched. It struggled desperately for a few seconds before it finally froze in mid motion. There was a green dot on its back.
The witch pulled the knife out of the wood, the creature still on it and moved over to the fireplace where she threw it in. Silently the two woman watched the body turn to coal and crumble to dust.
"What was that?" asked the young woman.
"Who knows," said the witch. "Doubt, fear, uncertainty, who can tell. But it is dead now."
Excitement spilled into the woman’s voice. "Does that mean that... my lover’s heart is healed?"
"Yes. It is." It seemed that the witch’s voice was shivering a little. But that was quite impossible. She moved back to the kitchen. "However, we can’t leave it like this."
From the same drawer she had got the knife earlier she now produced a sewing needle and some red yarn. Then she began to sew the two halves together.
"And this will work?"
"Yes."
"I didn’t imagine it would be that easy."
"It’s not. Just looks easy. Took my aunt ages to teach it to me. Was the most frustrating experience ever."
At the end she made a knot and cut the thread with her teeth.
"Well, except for knitting."
Then she did something so totally unexpected, it made the other one wince. She laughed. Not for long but she did. The woman asked herself whether if it might have been a hallucination. Anyway she was determined to forget it quickly.
"Good." The witch picked up the heart, turned it around in her hands. It was well sewed up and still beating.
"What happens now?"
The witch looked at her. "I will have to put the heart back in the chest."
Something about this thought obviously displeased the young woman.
"Can’t I do that?" she inquired.
"No." This word came out a little too vehement the way she said it. "You are not competent to do it."
"But I cut it out, didn’t I?"
"This is different." Something in the witch’s voice sounded defensive. "You wouldn’t be able to do it properly. And I can’t allow any mistakes. Not now."
The young woman neglected the thought that crept into the back of her mind. She suppressed the urge to reach for her cross. "All right. I will let you."
A clean white towel was wrapped around the healed heart. As the witch walked to the door a firm grip stopped her.
"But if you dare to touch him... in any way... I will kill you."
The witch looked the woman in the eyes for a while. Then nodded.
It was dark outside when they entered the house. The man lay naked in bed, eyes closed. His groin and legs were covered by a wool blanket. His breathing was calm and rhythmical. If it weren’t for the rips protruding from his open chest one could almost think that he was sleeping.
The nameless one unwrapped the heart and looked at the gigantic wound in the body. With her left hand she held the wooden box. And although she knew that it was none of her business, the younger woman wanted to know what was in it. Maybe it was something that could hurt his beloved one. And that thought made her mad.
"Leave."
With ice in her eyes the woman looked at the witch. "What?"
"You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Maybe you should listen more and talk less. I said leave. In order to do this I need complete silence."
"You won’t hear a sound from me."
"I can hear you wheezing. It’s very distracting. You don’t want to destroy everything now, do you?"
"How dare you..."
Grabbing the knife she still carried under garments the woman made a step towards the other one. She surely had no intention of leaving now. There was no way she was going to leave her lover alone with that... that witch.
"You will not have him, daemon. I won’t let you."
The nameless one paid her no attention. "I’m not interested in your lover. I have my own. You know that. No one fucks you as hard as the devil itself. Only he can give me what I need." She held up the box. "That’s why I always carry his most important part with me. He will always come back. And without it, he is no more than a black cat."
Intrigued and disgusted the woman thought about this. "Is that true? You are the devil’s whore?"
"I am a witch. What did you expect? Where do you think my powers are from? Also, if my lover learned that I did it with someone else, he would make me suffer eternal agony. And I am happy the way things are right now."
Admittedly that somehow made sense. It would explain why she clang to that box so desperately. And how she was able to do the things she did.
"And how do I know that you won’t hurt him?"
"I can’t. See... true love is sacred. And if true love is involved I can do no harm. It is god’s will that prevents me from eating this man’s heart. Otherwise I could have done it easily at my house. Think about it."
The woman thought some more.
"Very well. I will leave you. For half an hour."
"An hour."
"Ok. But if you do something to him..."
"You will kill me, I know." She held out her hand. "My knife, please."
The witch was given back her instrument.
"Now go."
Throwing a last glance at her beloved one the woman turned and left.
It took a while for the room to become silent. The last remains of the woman’s cracking jealousy swept out behind her. At least feeling completely at ease the nameless one allowed herself a slight smile. Sometimes you could just marvel at the stupidity of people. They would believe anything you tell them if only it was what they wanted to hear. What fit into their narrow insignificant worlds.
She looked at the man on the bed. He was handsome and young, his thick brown hair framing his innocent, almost angelic face. She was ashamed of what she had to do but it nevertheless would be done. His mind would not even notice any of it. Yet his body might remember it for a very long time.
With utmost care she put the young man’s heart on the small table by the bed, to make sure that it would not be damaged in the process. Then she placed the wooden box in front of her. Her eyes closed, revelling in the moment. Then she opened it.
Inside was a beating heart, not unlike the one on the table. It was visibly older though and black stains were spread among the red flesh. For so very long she had taken care of it, kept it safe. And even though keeping it in that wooden box was painful to her, she knew that the next hour would hurt even more. By far. Yet the alternative seemed so much worse, it was barely imaginable. She had to do this. She wanted to.
Only using her delicate fingertips she picked up the fragile old heart and set it into the young man’s chest. For a minute she just watched it beat. The thought of him alone, having a chest to beat in, calmed her, comforted her. It had been so long.
She then sewed the chest together, sealing the beating heart therein, and waited for her beloved one to awaken. It didn’t take long.
When his eyes opened she immediately knew that it was him even though these weren’t his eyes. But the way he looked at her, the way his gaze gave her nothing but happiness, that was him. Her love.
"Hey," she said in a voice as soft as velvet. There was a smile on her lips now that could not be compared to any other. Her hand gently caressed his face.
"Hey," he said in return. It was not his voice and yet it was. It made her cry to hear this dear melody that she hadn’t heard for so many years.
Slow and still a little uncertain in its movement his hand reached out for her cheek, wiping away a single tear. "Don’t cry, Guinevere. I am here now." He looked around, a little confused. "I am, ain’t I?"
"Oh gods," To see him like this hurt so much she couldn’t even breathe.
The man sat up and began to inspect his arms and body, then his face. His expression displayed clearly that he knew it wasn’t his. He turned to the witch and looked into her eyes. They were grey with the ever so slightest shade of blue now.
"So you haven’t found my body yet."
"I’m so sorry. I’ve looked everywhere. And I won’t stop. I will never stop looking for it, you know that."
He nodded. "Yes, I know. And I can never repay you for that. It just hurts to... not be myself."
"I am so sorry... But I... I had to see you. I had to talk to you. Every minute, awake or asleep, I can think of nothing else. I miss you so much..."
When he stood up and put these foreign arms around her, she surrendered gladly. It was his heart that commanded them and that was enough for her. They felt strong and warm on her skin. And she wished that time would just stop and she could remain this way forever. Beneath the sewed up chest his heart began to beat faster.
"Don’t be sorry," he whispered to her. "I am happy to be here. To be able to see and touch you. My love. I miss you too, Guinevere. More with every new beat. Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m going to burst. And sometimes I want to. Because existing without you is worse than death. The most horrible of all suffering."
She smiled up at him like a little girl, not letting him go. "I kept you safe. No one is allowed to touch you, only me. I do sometimes. But it hurts."
He kissed her brow. "Yes, it does. I wish I could be with you. I love you."
She pressed her head against his chest, longing to vanish inside it. "I love you."
For minutes they did nothing but rest in each other’s arms, losing all memory of the many years they had spent alone, of this house and this strange body. There was just them.
"How much longer do we have?" he asked her. She only held him tighter.
"I don’t know. Half an hour maybe."
Without another word he lifted her onto the bed, covering her face with kisses. She was surprised at first but understood the intention soon and gave in to it. In her chest her heart was already beating wildly, and she had to close her eyes when he kissed her neck.
His hard breathing sounded strange and familiar in her ears. His firm body was warm and tense against hers. With a moan she recognised the patterns of his caresses. She remembered every detail. How could she possibly forget.
Almost all by themselves her arms reached out for him, holding him. Stroking his hair as his head slowly descended down her body. With a few elegant moves he opened her dress and took it off. It’s really him, she thought. Only he knew how to do that so quickly. Underneath the dress she was naked and her skin was gleaming.
His lips moved over her breasts, closing around her nipple. His tongue flickered against it. It felt so much like him. Even as he licked over her stomach, slowly moving downwards.
Tenderly he lifted her leg and kissed the inside her thigh. "Oh Guinvere... I missed you so much... the years seemed endless without you. Every beat was an eternity."
She couldn’t say a word, even though her lips were parted. And her body was tensed in anticipation. It was fulfilled the moment his tongue dipped into her.
A strangled moan escaped her throat as she arched her back. A sea of warmth began to fill her and she knew she must be very wet by now. Her eyes half closed she looked down her body at her lover’s head between her legs. Their gazes met. And although the colour of his eyes was different, the place behind them was not.
She remembered everything, bit by bit. After so many years she could finally experience her lover’s caresses again. And she recognised every single move he did. It felt familiar and wonderful.
All the while his tongue played with her, teased her and worshipped her. Then she felt his other hand, his finger inside her. She knew what he was thinking. The thought made her tremble.
He lifted his head but his hand didn’t stop moving in and out of her. Looking down his body she could see that he was hard and ready.
"Can I... will you let me slip into you?"
In reply to his question she sat up and put her tongue into his mouth. Her hand was closing around him. He was really very hard already and somehow that thought charmed her immensely. Still she started rubbing him, wanting him as hard as possible. A deep groan was her reward.
"Yes, come into me. Need to feel you inside. Deep inside me."
She then lead him closer to her where the outer edges were already wide open, inviting him in. "Come... push into me... please..."
The next moment she already felt him inside her. He was warm and slid in easily. Not much later they were already moving together, their hips pressing against each other.
She wished it would never end, that it would go on like this forever. Yet she couldn’t await her own climax as it was already reaching out for her. And she knew that he was close as well. She remembered. As did he.
"Guinvere... I want you to come..."
"Yes... want to come for you... so much..."
With the rest of her strength she drew him closer to her, crossing her legs behind his back, making sure that he couldn’t withdraw before.
"Oh yes... come inside me... come..."
It was his desperate moan and the feeling of his semen being spilled that finally sent a wave of shivers through her body and mind, drowning every other thought or feeling.
She stroked his hair after he collapsed on her and he laid his head on her chest. Both of them were afraid to speak, lest the enchantment of the moment would be broken. But that was what she had to do.
"You have to go," she said eventually.
"I know." He slid out of her as he lifted himself up to kiss her. "I don’t want to leave."
Near tears she touched his face, looking into his eyes. "I wish you didn’t have to. I really wish you could stay with me. Forever."
"Forever," he repeated and kissed her once more. Then he got up. With a trembling hand he inspected the stitches on the stranger’s chest.
"I can’t keep this body." It was more an understanding than a question.
"No."
He nodded. Then he positioned himself on the bed, the way he was before she awakened him. The witch took the scissors from her bag.
"Lie still," she told him. He lay still.
"Guinevere?"
"Yes?"
"I came inside you."
A small smile crossed her lips. "Yes, you did."
"It wasn’t safe. You know that."
"Yes, it was." She lay the scissors aside and looked at him. "It was one of the first things I did after I lost you. A year or so later. I did a spell. It’s irreversible. It causes my body to refuse all semen except yours. From your own body."
She picked up the scissors and started severing the stitches. He smiled at her. "I love you."
The sadness and joy in his voice made her heart ache. She leaned over and kissed him.
"I love you, my heart. I will never forget this day. I will keep looking for your body. I will not rest till I find it."
"Thank you." His beating heart peeked out of the wound when he raised his hand to stroke her cheek. In that second she lost all her strength. She wanted to tell him that he could keep this body, that they would run away together and hide where no one could find them, that she didn’t care about what happened to the other man’s heart, that the only thing she wanted was to be in his arms forever, lost in a dream, never to wake up. Her cheek nestled into his warm hand. It felt so right.
Gently she took his arm and laid it back at his side.
"Close your eyes. It will hurt a little," she said, even though they both knew that she was lying.
She cut the last thread and opened the wound. There, inside this chest, his heart was still beating. Her hands folded around it.
"Don’t forget me," he whispered. Then she tore the heart out.
She found herself again on her knees, still burning with the memory of pain. But the heart was secure. Like many times before she put it back in the wooden box and closed the lid.
Then she took the other man’s healed heart, sealed it in his chest and sewed it up.
When she was done she felt weak like never before. She had lost him again. And it got worse with every time. It hurt so much.
The young woman returned only shortly afterwards, or so she thought. Shyly she peeked into the room and entered when she saw that the work was already finished. Behind the witch she stood still, her gaze averted.
"I want to apologise for my behaviour. It was very foolish and hysterical of me to suspect you of anything. I was worried. But I should trust you. You did so much for me. For us."
"Apology accepted. Let’s never mention it again."
The woman was very happy about this. For actually she hoped to never see the witch again in her life. Not that she wasn’t grateful.
"Thank you. Um. I know it’s not really appropriate to ask this. And believe me, I wouldn’t mind at all if you refused to answer but... do you have a name?"
Methodically the witch gathered her instruments as she spoke.
"Yes, I have. Even I, the witch that rides the devil, have a name. But I won’t tell, not you or anyone. There is only one person who knows my name. And only he is allowed to speak it." She picked up the wooden and held it. Under her breath she said "I want to hear no one else say it."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Grabbing her things the nameless one turned to go.
"And what about the favour I owe you?"
"Never mind. Consider it repaid."
As she left the house she could hear the first muffled moans of the waking man and the first exclamations of joy from the woman. They would be happy together, she was sure.
The old man with the scar beheld her as she passed the tavern. There was a flicker in his eyes as if something bright reflected in them. His hand reached for his chest and he looked down at the scars that were once stitches, a very long time ago.
"I remember," he said.
The End.