We watch her from the safety of the forest.
Every morning she wanders out into her yard, placing the cups on the three fence posts before returning back inside. Here they remain untouched until nightfall. No animal ever comes to drink from them, and no human ever visits the cottage where they are placed.
At sunset she wanders back outside to retrieve them, briefly looking in our direction before returning indoors. Our parents say that she is lonely, and hopeful for the return of her family, but we think otherwise.
We think she may be a witch.
This routine continues throughout the summer – her placing the cups outside, us watching from a distance – until one day we dare ourselves to look a bit closer. We creep across the meadow to the cottage, scuttling through the wildflower like insects.
The cups all contain a sweet liquid smelling of honey. We take cautious sips before downing it all like liquid sugar. Before long our throats are burning and our limbs unable to move, leaving us paralysed within the meadow.
After many minutes of suffering she finally comes out to greet us, pleased to have caught her prey at last.
A story based on the photo prompt for Sunday Photo Fiction
Photo (c) Dawn Miller