As Jimmy Young would say ‘What’s the recipe today?’
Love the picture story board to work from
Her beautiful world had been shattered by jealousy.
It should have been such a happy day, October 14th, 1897.
The sun was shining, the preparations made, a festival of food awaiting the happy couple.
She knew Eli loved her, but her sister Ingrid had visited The Ancient Crone the night before for a potion to turn his head.
Unbeknown to either of them, Freya had snared him with one of her own mixtures in the first place. Why else should such a healthy and virile specimen take up with her, a mousey maid with a heart of gold, but a face as plain as jute cloth. However, by the time the potion had worn off, Eli had indeed fallen in love with her, and Freya was in seventh heaven.
Ingrid’s jealousy not only turned his head, but poisoned his body so he’d never made it to the altar.
Freya insisted the village enjoy the wedding feast even though one had not taken place.
They were glad not to miss out on such a banquet but compassionate enough to feel sorrow for their hostess as she put on a brave face.
Ingrid gorged herself on cake, just as Freya had known she would. She had always said her sweet tooth would be the death of her.
As Freya cut yet another hefty slice, she added a few drops of her ‘special brew’, then settled back to accept due commiseration. And watch.
Ingrid felt the onset of indigestion and drank some more ale.
As it got worse, she was forced to retire from the festivities, and called for Freya, begging her to mix one of her herbal remedies.
Freya produced a black mixture promising it would ease the pain, and added it to her tea.
As it took effect, robbing Ingrid of life, Freya’s heart turned as black as the berries she’d gathered to make it.
She kept the bouquet on the table, watching it wilt and die, just as her dreams had died.
She knew she’d rot in hell, but she had nothing to live for now, and retrieving the bottle from its secreted place, took a sip herself.