She is the Witch of Escarot, who lives at the edge of the lonely woods. A scary old woman that Mothers warn their children about.
Whenever she is near, terrible accidents befall men. Children are hurt or go missing. Mothers and wives weep. There is no proof, there is no story or reason why, just a truth everyone knows deep in the back of their minds. She is not normal, be afraid, be alert.
None dare openly oppose her, the bakery sells her bread, the butcher sells her meat, she is welcome at the theater. But she always sits alone, she never waits in line, no one makes small talk with her, because she is a witch. They fear her in some primal, unspoken way. They never get out of her way, they simply never get in her way to begin with. Little hairs stand up on the back of their necks and they know to simply not be there anymore. No one wants to become her enemy, for she is dangerous, probably.
In quiet rooms with hot tea and gentle ladies at gossip they speak of her, some old woman who liv