Buckle your broomstraps and stir that cauldron—because it’s time for another original legend soaked in sass, shadow, and spellwork. Tonight, Alice is brewing up a tale of witches - but not your cackling-in-the-corner, pointy-hat-wearing, eye-of-newt amateurs. No no no. These witches wield ink and secrets, flirt with fate, and play poker with prophecies.
So grab your goblet of moon wine, and let’s begin…
☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents: Storytime
Alice Spills the Tea: The Witch of Thornmoon Hollow
There once was a little village tucked into a crooked corner of the world, where the trees whispered more gossip than the townsfolk and the shadows didn’t wait for the sun to set before creeping in.
Welcome to Thornmoon Hollow, dears. Population: anxious.
Now, every town has that house—you know the one. Slanted roof. Vines that look suspiciously like they’re watching you. Windows that blink when no one’s home.
In Thornmoon, that house belonged to Mistress Belladonna Mirth, the last of the old witches… or so they thought.
She was an absolute icon of sinister fabulousness. Hair like a lightning storm. Eyes like spilled ink. Cloak? Velvet and cursed. She didn't walk—she floated. And she brewed a tea so potent it could reveal your ancestors' deepest regrets and also make your eyebrows grow back thicker. (Some people paid double for that.)
Belladonna wasn’t evil, mind you. But she was… unbothered by things like rules, reality, and taxes.
She didn’t curse anyone unless they really deserved it. You know—cheating husbands, nosey church ladies, that one guy who called her tea “watery.” (He now speaks in frogsong. Permanently.)
But then, one fog-drenched evening, the villagers gathered their torches, pitchforks, and a dramatic sense of self-righteousness. They claimed Belladonna had enchanted the moon, ruined the crops, and possibly turned Farmer Elric into a goat. (For the record, Elric was a goat. Spiritually. She just helped the outside match the inside.)
They stormed her house.
What they found was… nothing.
No Belladonna. No broom. Just a note, written in glittering ink on parchment that smoked when touched:
“I’ve grown bored of your small minds and smaller gardens. I’m off to a place where witches write history, not just hide in it. See you in the next era, when your descendants are ready for real magic.”
And just like that, she vanished.
But here’s where it gets interesting, love—she didn’t leave Thornmoon entirely.
Oh no. She folded herself into the Hollow’s roots, into the myths and moss. Children say if you pour tea under the full moon and whisper your worst secret, Belladonna just might answer you… with a spell. Or a sarcastic laugh. Depending on her mood.
Centuries passed.
But whispers still swirl. Some say she built an entire Academy of Mystic Arts somewhere beyond the veil—where quills write spells and books bite back. Where Belladonna reigns as High Inkstress of Enchanted Mayhem.
Others say she now writes for a certain eerie newspaper with a god of mischief and a demented goblin king with a teacup addiction.
I say - she never really left at all.
So, darlings, beware those who sip too quietly and smile too sweetly. They may just be witches in disguise. Or worse… retired witches with too much free time and a flair for vengeance.
Until next time, my lovely mortals…
Signed in moonlight and madness,
Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore
(Mistress Belladonna’s spiritual heir and chaotic tea-slinger of legend)
You know where to find the rest of the wicked tea:
Alice Spills the Tea
The Immortal Gazette
And of course, all summoned by the magnificent:
Sonia Bloodthorn
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