TTW - 23 (Patreon)

Thomas went into the Kitchen, ready to whip up some sandwiches. He pulled out the ingredients and also grabbed some leftover lentil soup he had in the refrigerator.

After the stormy past few days, it was nice to think things were finally getting back to normal. Whatever normal was when you were married to the flamboyant mixture of the wicked witch of the east and west combined.

He could hear her singing in the shower. Lydia couldn't hold a tune to save her life. Esmerelda, on the other hand, had a beautiful voice, a bit like Bonnie Rait. She was singing something French, then switched to something by Taylor Swift. Thomas chuckled at the French accent singing "Take eet off, take eet off." Apparently, Esmerelda had forgotten the exact English words of Lydia's favorite singer.

Thomas was cutting the sandwiches diagonally, when the knife slipped and his finger was underneath.

"Ow, fuck!" he said, putting his finger into his mouth to stop the bleeding. He looked at it. It was rather deep. Might even need a stitch or two.

Shit, he thought. Finally get a nice evening with his wife and he had to do something fucking stupid. He went to the first aid kit, and got a bandage, and some tape, and quickly tended to his cut.

A few moments later, Esmerelda came down the stairs. He smiled at her. She was wearing a simple tank top and leggings.

"I see the geas is going easy on you tonight," Thomas said.

"Geas Smeas," Esmerelda replied. "I am zo zick and tired of eet."

He set the sandwiches down on TV trays, then got some milk for her, and a beer for himself. Esmerelda couldn't stomach wine, it gave her indigestion—

"Wine tonight, Sil vous plait?"

"Are you sure, honey? Last time you—"

"I do not care!" she practically yelled. "I wish we had ze box of wine, like when we live in Shicago…"

"Hah." Thomas said, pouring her a glass. "That was terrible wine."

"I miss eet." She took a long drink, and winced a bit. "I know zis wine is far superior, but liked what we had."

"Tasted good because it was the only thing we could afford," Thomas chuckled, and clinked her glass. "Cheers."

Esmerelda noticed that bandage. "What iz zis?" she looked at his hand.

"Ah, cut it when I was making the sandwiches. Nothing terrible."

"Are you sure? I could heel it with my majic."

"Nah, I'm good babe."

"What shall we watch?"

Thomas shrugged. I was thinking maybe 'Le Pacte des Loups?' It's a supernatural movie in French but has subtitles.

Esmerelda winced. "I am not sure I can do something 'orror."

Lydia hadn't liked horror either. So Thomas wasn't surprised.

"How about 'Amélie?'

"What is it about?"

Thomas read from the dvd cover. "A shy waitress in Paris who decides to change the lives of those around her for the better, while struggling with her own isolation."

"Oui. Très bien."

Thomas nodded, and slotted the DVD into the drive.

As the movie started he went to the couch, and pulled Esmerelda into his embrace. With no makeup or geas, she looked frail, older. But he loved her just the same.

Thomas set down the tray of sandwiches and soup on the coffee table, glancing at the TV screen where "Amélie" was just beginning. He noticed Esmerelda, or Lydia as he still thought of her, trying to relax on the couch, her transformed body curled beneath a cozy blanket. Her streaked gray hair fell loosely around her shoulders, a stark contrast to the youthful energy that once defined her.

"Ah, finally, some quality time," Thomas said, trying to sound cheerful. He handed her a sandwich, their fingers brushing briefly—a reminder of simpler times.

"Merci, mon chéri," Esmerelda replied, her heavy French accent thickening her words. She bit into her sandwich, her altered hands shaking slightly. Thomas could see the frustration in her eyes, the constant battle with the geas clearly wearing on her.

As the whimsical world of Amélie Poulain unfolded on the screen, Thomas tried to lighten the mood. "You know, I've always wanted to find one of those photo booths with secret messages," he quipped, nudging her playfully.

Esmerelda chuckled, a sound that still warmed his heart. "Ah, but would you chase after a mysterious woman who leave behind her own photos?" Her voice had a playful lilt, despite the accent.

"I might, if she looked anything like you," Thomas teased back, earning a genuine smile from Esmerelda.

They watched as Amélie covertly returned a childhood treasure to its now-grown owner. "Imagine if someone did that for me," Thomas mused. "They'd probably bring back my old Ninja Turtles action figure."

Esmerelda laughed, her accent making her words dance. "Oh là là, such precious childhood memories, no?"

The scene shifted to Amélie helping a blind man cross the street, vividly describing the bustling Paris around them. "You know, if I were her, I’d probably make up the most outrageous stories," Thomas said. "Like, ‘And on your left, there’s a man walking a crocodile on a leash.’”

Esmerelda's laughter filled the room, a sound that Thomas cherished. "Et voilà, a crocodile on ze streets of Paris. Très normal!"

As the movie progressed, they continued their playful banter, each witty remark a bridge reconnecting them, despite the chasm the geas had created. The affectionate teasing, the shared laughter, it was a balm to the strangeness and strain of their new reality.

In a tender scene where Amélie imagines her own funeral, Esmerelda quipped, "If I 'ad a funeral like zat, I'd want someone to say I could make a mean sandwich."

Thomas laughed, the sound mingling with the movie's charming soundtrack. "And I'd vouch for that. Best sandwich-maker in all realms, magical or otherwise."

As the movie drew to a close, with Amélie finally finding happiness, Thomas felt a pang of hope. Maybe, just maybe, amidst the chaos and change, they could still find their own version of happiness. He glanced at Esmerelda, her face illuminated by the TV's glow, and realized that no matter what, she was still Lydia to him, the woman he loved.

The credits rolled, and they sat in comfortable silence, the magic of the movie lingering in the air. For a brief moment, the geas, the transformations, and the challenges they faced seemed a distant worry. In that room, it was just Lydia and Thomas, laughing and loving as they always had.

"Ze coven want me to go through a ritual to infuse ze geas inside me, fusing Lydia and Esssmerelda, into one."

Thomas, confused, looked at her. "Hasn't that already happened? I mean…you do speak French now."

Esmerelda nodded. "Oui, but thiz iz…deeper. I think."

"Why do they want you to do that?"

She sighed, looking at her hands. "Becauze az you can see, ze geas wears off unless I re-ignite it." He held up her left hands, and Thomas could see it looked younger, like what had happened last night.

He took her hand, and kissed it, staying silent for the moment. This was not his decision to make, but he wanted her to know he was with her, no matter what she decided.

"So, basically, they want you to become Esmerelda completely? Erase Lydia?"

"Non…not erase. It iz more of a melding, az I see it."

"And you're going through with it?"

She sniffed. "Non."

"Are you sure?"

"I do not care if ze world comez crashing down. I already suffer enough from zis crayzee curse."

"Well, you do have magic also. Would you become more powerful?"

"I would probably be ze most powerful witch in Saelicbrook."

Thomas shrugged, getting up and taking the plates into the kitchen where he washed them. "Well, whatever you decide to do, I stand one hundred percent behind you, babe."

"Only one hundred perzent?" she shook her head. "Merde. Such a weak 'usband, I have!"

"Haha, Ms. Witchiepoopants." He came back to the sofa, and pulled her into his arms again.

The doorbell rang, signaling the end of their quiet time.

Esmerelda sighed. "Per'aps, zey will go-away."

Thomas chuckled, holding her.

The doorbell rang again.

"They weel keep doing zat if I do not open ze door."

"I figured," Thomas said.

She sighed. "I need to re-ignite ze geas. Thank you, my darling for such a wonderful afternoon."

"There's more where that came from," he said, and kissed her as she snapped her fingers.

Instantly, she had an immense beehive hairdo, with heavy makeup, eyelashes, and smelled like she'd bathed in a french perfume fountain.

"Wow, they really went all out with the hair, didn't they?"

Esmerelda nodded, getting up from the sofa.

Thomas sighed, and followed her into the foyer.