The Bruja's Cottage

A few Translations:  

Pobrecita: Poor girl

Mis ninos: my children

Estoy bien: I'm okay

The clouds drifted away, revealing a lush moon and a soft, white light over a stagnant stream. La Llorona paced along the river, her cries lifting to the dark sky. The weight of grief and anger was heavy in her belly. She weaved through low-lying grass, passing under the shadows of bowed willows. 

She glanced ahead; lighted windows of the cottage that had long been vacant stared back at her. La Llorona tilted her head. Someone was in there. The desire to devour festered, a crescendo of subtle pain nipping under the flesh she wore.

La Llorona dragged herself through the stale air to the cottage; wails spilling wildly. She stumbled upon a Mexican woman with long, dark brown hair braided in wildflowers. She gazed intensely at her hands laid over barren soil, surrounded by young plants. There was something enchanting about her- different.

As La Llorona stepped closer, her wails still sounding, she noticed the woman didn't seem perturbed. "Just a minute. I'm trying to concentrate."

The wailing ceased as if spellbound. "Are you not afraid?" she rasped. She morphed her face, peeling back her drowned-blue skin so that only a skull was present. She moved closer to the woman, bellowing her loudest wail.

However, the woman unflinchingly frowned. "Why should I be afraid of something that obviously needs help?"

"Help? You would help me find mis ninos?"

"Pobrecita," the woman whispered. "Don't you know that you are free?"

"Free?" The sound of the word pounded against her ears like a drum, but it trembled from her cold, dead lips. La Llorona grimaced and stepped back; the word made her feel raw and vulnerable. She shook her head. "No, bruja, I am bound- bound to this rio, and my sins." The woman's frown dissolved. "My abuela always said that sins can be forgiven." 

La Llorona bristled. "Some sins linger longer than lifetimes."

The woman sighed. She stood, and her gaze was piercing, sharper than the usual stabs of grief, remorse, and anger to her being. She shook her head, a single flower fluttering to the ground. "Pobrecita." Then, she disappeared inside the house, and Llorona watched her leave.

The next night, La Llorona followed her usual path of haunting, except the river appeared less stagnant; its waters frothing and crashing. The air felt less stale; it felt open; she could smell the wild growing things along the banks. She wailed, her cries echoing through the trees, but tonight they felt quieter. Her voice faltered, the edges of her sorrow dulled by an unfamiliar sensation. It was subtle at first, like the brush of an unwelcome breeze, but it grew stronger with each drag of breath. She wanted to see the woman again.

Would she be in her garden? Her desire pulled her to the bruja's cottage, even though her mind wanted to flee.

When she arrived, the garden's vines and blossoms bathed in the waning moonlight, but was absent of the bruja. La Llorona stopped in her tracks, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Why had she come? Her jaw tightened as irritation surged. This was foolish. She should have killed the woman and ended the distraction. Rage flared, but beneath it, something softer squirmed—hesitation, longing.

Her gaze shifted to the cottage. Warm light spilled from the windows, and she found herself creeping closer, curiosity pulling her like a current. She peered inside, the sharp edge of her shame tempered by the sight before her.

The bruja was in the kitchen, her dark waves flowing with her as she danced to a rhythm La Llorona hadn’t heard in what felt like centuries. The familiar beat of reggaeton rippled through the air; its pulse slipped through her pruned, blue skin and into her bones, tugging at them. She ached to answer the call with the movement of her own body. However, she stood still, her existence a prison.

She returned to watching. The bruja moved with effortless grace, her hips swaying like a steady current, pulling La Llorona down and sinuously drowning her in desire. She wanted to be closer; she wanted to be like the music that kissed her voluptuous body and her thick thighs. Her longing shone brighter than the pain that continued to imprison her to this existence. The bruja chopped vegetables in time with the beat, twirling between tasks as though the kitchen was her cauldron.

Within the cacophony of these feelings- this spiritual-like moment, her fear barked. What was she becoming, wanting this woman who should have been her prey? Lost in her thoughts, the snap of light startled her. The bruja leaned on the window sill with a grin. "If you wanted my company, all you had to do was ask." La Llorona froze, her fingers still clutching the windowsill as her mind raced. The bruja’s voice was warm, teasing.

"I..." she stammered, a sound she barely recognized. Her voice was hoarse, raw from centuries of weeping. "I didn’t—"

The bruja tilted her head, her grin softening into something more curious. "Didn’t think I’d notice you creepin' out here?" She leaned closer, her deep brown eyes shimmering with mischief. "Or are you too used to people running away before you can speak?"

The words struck a nerve. Shame twisted in La Llorona’s chest, but she couldn’t look away from the bruja’s gaze. “I don’t speak,” she whispered, her tone defensive. "I haunt. I take. That is what I am."

The bruja’s smile didn’t waver. Instead, she pushed the window open a little wider, the scent of spices and simmering broth wafting into the cool night air. "And yet here you are. Watching me dance instead of... haunting."

The familiar swell of anger and confusion rose in her throat. She should leave. She should disappear into the night and let the bruja forget she was ever here. But her feet wouldn’t move.

The bruja’s gaze softened, her voice quiet now. "Do you want to come inside?"

The offer was so simple, so human, that it shattered La Llorona's defenses. Her lips parted, but no words came.

"Just for a moment," the bruja added gently, sensing her hesitation. "You look like you could use a break from all the... wailing."

A startled laugh escaped La Llorona before she could stop it, the sound foreign to her own ears. The bruja’s smile widened, and La Llorona felt something shift, like the first crack in a wall that had stood for far too long.

"You are strange."

"I'd rather you call me Guadalupe." Another laugh. For once, La Llorona's body felt less heavy. "What about you? What would you like to be called?"

"I am called many names- La Llorona, the donkey-faced lady, a siren-"

The bruja- Guadalupe lifted one manicured finger. "I am aware of the stories. But what do you want to be called?"

La Llorona thought for a moment. No one had ever asked her a question like this. What was her name before she became this thing that wept and slaughtered? "Maria."

"Maria? Okay. Well, do you want to come inside?"

Maria thought for a moment. "Si."

Maria stepped into Guadalupe's home. The living room was veiled with the aroma of copal and warm tortillas. Her couch and floor was decorated in vibrant, Mexica patterns. Every corner of the home hummed of tradition, magic, and a deep reverence for her ancestors. Maria took a seat, her form feeling more corporal with each step.

Maria surprisingly thought of her abuela's kitchen. She thought of pleasant things before she met him; a deep frown shadowed La Llorona's face as the anger and bitterness festered in her being. A few single tears rolled down her cheeks. Guadalupe glanced over her shoulder, "Where have you gone?"

Maria blinked. "Como?"

"You were a million miles away."

Maria shook her head. "I was thinking of home. I thought of my abuela. I hadn't thought of her in a long time."

Guadalupe sat a bowl that smelled like Caldo de Pollo on the table in front of Maria. "It's not magic, but thought it might be close enough." Guadalupe sat the tortillero in the middle of the table, and joined Maria. "Would you like some lemonade or anything to drink?"

Maria shook her head and pushed herself away from the table. "I cannot accept this kindness."

"Haven't you suffered enough?"

The words froze La Llorona to the spot. Her hands rested on the wooden back of the chair as she faced the door with her head down. Her form shifted, feeling more like paper now. "But I- you’ve heard the stories; you know of my sins, bruja."

"We are taught as women to be long-suffering; you must forgive yourself."

La Llorona's voice cracked, her spectral form flickering faintly as she gripped the chair tighter. "What forgiveness could there be for a monster who—" She stopped, her words caught in her throat as if choking on the weight of her past.

The bruja stepped closer, her tone soft yet firm. "You are not the first woman to be condemned for the agony she could no longer hold." She reached out, though her fingers hovered just short of touching the ghost. "Tell me, who taught you that grief must only punish?"

La Llorona's head lifted slightly, though her face remained in shadow. "The river; the night… They whisper it to me every day. That I deserve no rest, no peace.” She scrambled for the words to describe who taught her that the only way to be was to suffer. She thought of her mother who stayed by her father's side even though he gambled their money away and hit her. She thought about how she watched her husband leave her with two sons who needed him. She thought about the many nights she went to sleep with the other side of the bed empty.

"The river, the night; they lie," the bruja said sharply, her voice sharp and cutting through La Llorona's lies. "As do stories and the men who spun them. They turn your pain into their warnings, their weapon. But you are not theirs to wield."

La Llorona turned, her eyes hollow yet filled with a glimmer of something raw, almost human. "Then what am I, if not a weapon of warning?"

"A woman who suffered. And perhaps, if you choose, whatever you want to be."

Maria curled her fingers into a fist and set it against where her heart used to be. "Thank you, br- Guadalupe."

La Llorona left the table, her form flickering, and she disappeared back into the night without a single wail. She thought about Guadalupe's words. She thought about the gentle, yet firm look in her eyes. They rooted her even in Maria’s thoughts. She had not remembered what it was like to want to be anything besides a monster- besides what her victims declared her to be. The last time she wanted, it had led her to this form. Perhaps, she had been afraid to want again after all this time. However, want claimed her over and over as she wandered along the river. She wanted to see Guadalupe again.

The next evening, she began her usual haunt, stepping along the river- the mud pressing against her toes. However, this time the river was gentle; it was trickling and chuckling. The wailing that usually spilled from her lips gurgled in her stomach,but did not claw its way out as it usually did. It was a strange feeling. What was her existence if she was not suffering? Her eyes caught the lights of Guadalupe’s cottage. She shouldn’t go, but she went anyway.

Guadalupe was in her garden this time, manicured nails laid over soil. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to hold those steady, pretty hands. Her hair was not braided this time- it was free and loose over her shoulders. "Welcome back, Maria." The name La Llorona reclaimed thrummed from Guadalupe’s lips. She sat back on her calves and smiled at her. Maria was rooted to the spot. "Hold on." Guadalupe went back inside the house and returned with a couple of plums. She handed one out to Maria.

La Llorona was hesitant. She didn't deserve such kindness. She stepped back, but then she thought about all that Guadalupe said. She was deeply tired of wailing and mourning. So, she accepted the offering. La Llorona’s form was no longer flickering as her fingers stroked the supple, dark fruit. "Thank you." She nibbled and savored the sweet taste. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I've never been afraid of monsters. I found out when I was a little girl that I could just talk to them. Well, some of them. My abuela had to teach me some things for the ones that wouldn't listen. I like monsters. Sometimes, they teach me things about the world."

"Like what?" 

"Like your story was made as a warning to women like me that the night is dangerous, but that's because women like me have learned to harness the power of the night and scare away the men." Guadalupe laughed, and Maria found that she looked regal as she spoke.

 "What brought you all the way out here?"

Guadalupe watched Maria nibble the plum, and then devour it. "I came for a peace of mind and to better my craft."

Maria tilted her head. "Is that what you’re doing when you have your hands on the soil?"

Guadalupe nodded. "My abuela had a skill for green magic like growing plants, making healing herbs, and stuff and she taught me everything I know." Guadalupe shook her head. "She passed away and gave this place to me."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Guadalupe shrugged. "It's not really a loss. Just a passing over." Guadalupe took another bite, her gaze sweeping over the river and moon. "This is such a beautiful spot; I can see why my abuela loved it here."

Maria’s gaze lingered on Guadalupe, a flicker of something unspoken sparking in her chest when their eyes met. "I must admit, I hadn't the reason to raise my head to look for beauty, until now," Maria confessed.

Guadalupe glanced at her, eyes wide. "Was that a compliment?"

Maria’s smile widened just a little. "Just an observation." When Maria caught Guadalupe's eyes, she said, "Now it is you who is staring."

A slight red dotted Guadalupe's brown skin. “Death has not robbed your beauty.” And then she leaned forward, their faces so close. "You're very beautiful."

La Llorona dropped the plum. The flesh on her face peeled back, revealing the skull beneath the blue illusion of skin. She felt the dreaded crawl of maggots and worms wither in and out of her eye sockets. Wailing erupted from her like chains, only they were coming from inside her. It was as if she was having trouble remembering how to be human in this moment. Guadalupe’s compliment had dredged up memories of the men that picked her up and called her beautiful before they really saw who they were sleeping with. She remembered slaying the man she loved after she awoke in this monstrous form- how much she savored the blood on her finger tips. She remembered the blood of his elegant woman too.

"Maria?" La Llorona was pulled from this sinking well of misery. However, the sight of Guadalupe holding up a protective sigil with a startled, guarded expression on her lovely face drew a sharp ache. She backed away, and disappeared into the shadows.

She shouldn't have bothered. She should keep well enough away before she hurt Guadalupe too. So, she stayed away. For the next few days, she did not return to the cottage. She trailed along the river, dragging her tattered white dress and her anguish. Her wails were not as strong now and she didn’t ask the question anymore.

As she listened to the water splashing the rocks, she noticed more the wild flowers that made their home on the banks. Then, she saw her. Guadalupe. She was wearing a long skirt, a flowing blouse with earthy tones, and boots. Her hair was wild in the wind that made the reeds bow. She looked like Coatlaxopeuh parting the grass. Maria’s instinct was to cast her eyes down, to bow her head in reverence, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off her. "Maria!"

"Bruja, what are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize. Lo siento for being scared."

"Esta bien," Maria said quickly. "I am used to people fearing me."

Guadalupe shook her head. "That doesn’t make it okay."

The desire was loud as the flap of birds gliding over a bayou. She wanted to kiss her right then. But she couldn’t do that. No. No. Monsters didn't kiss pretty women. She was a monster, a murderer, a spirit driven by anger and vengeance. "You- you have to leave."

Hurt rippled across Guadalupe's face, and Maria ached. However, this was for the best. "What- do you not accept my apology?"

Maria turned away from her. "I cannot.”

Guadalupe’s eyes fell and Maria wanted to disappear. “I’m really sorry.”

La Llorona distorted her face, elongating her bones in wrong places. She became the monster she knew how to be. It was more comfortable than being a monster who desperately wanted to reach out to this beautiful bruja. She summoned all the wind of the night and released her meanest, strongest shriek.

But Guadalupe didn’t budge. She didn’t run. She stood there looking at this hideous form- her eyes peering, seeing. Instead, she stepped forward. She approached La Llorona, her jaw tightened, her eyes hard like a warrior preparing for battle. Guadalupe touched each side of her face, her palms settling over the crooked arrangement of Maria’s face. And she faced the horrors that shaped La Llorona- she faced the long, lonely nights, the abandonment, the hurt, the suffering; she looked the monster dead in the eye without a single flinch.

La Llorona’s shriek dwindled to a hiss and then to a stillness she had never known. The tenderness quelled her sorrow and her anger. La Llorona shattered, leaving behind a sobbing Maria with drowned-blue skin again. Guadalupe traced her finger along Maria’s brow, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I’m supposed to help; instead I’ve hurt your feelings. For that, I am sorry.”

Maria’s form felt more solid, the fragile boundaries of her existence growing stronger with every touch. She let herself collapse into Guadalupe’s arms, her head resting against the curve of Guadalupe’s shoulder. Guadalupe’s fingers tenderly threaded through her hair, and it was as though she were flesh and blood again.

Guadalupe’s heartbeat thrummed against Maria’s ears, erratic and wild, as if it were fighting to bridge the gap between life and death. Each beat drew Maria closer, deeper into this intoxicating moment. Her lips parted, and a sigh escaped her, heavy with yearning.

For the first time in decades, Maria felt warmth—real warmth—seeping from Guadalupe’s skin into hers. Her fingers trembled as they reached up to trace the curve of Guadalupe's jaw, the sensation sending a shiver through her bones like wind through chimes.

This was the closest Maria ever felt to being alive. Drunk on this near-alive feeling, Maria hesitantly pressed her lips against Guadalupe's lips; everything in her screamed that she shouldn’t do this- that she didn't deserve something so sweet and lovely. However, one taste deliciously burned away the sting of death and set on fire the weight of her past; Maria couldn't get enough. She indulged herself on the sinful sweetness of her lips, her sandalwood scent, her warmth.

Guadalupe stroked the fire smoldering in Maria’s being by deepening the kiss, her hands warm on Maria's cheeks. Guadalupe’s breath hitched, her hands sliding from Maria's hair to her waist, pulling her closer, impossibly closer, as if holding her tightly enough would make her solid, real. The soft press of Guadalupe's tongue against Maria's lips sent a jolt through her—a sensation so vivid that it nearly overwhelmed her.

Maria gasped against Guadalupe's mouth, breaking the kiss for the briefest moment, only to dive back in, hungrier this time. Her hands roamed over Guadalupe's shoulders, her back, seeking the firmness of muscle and bone beneath warm skin, needing to feel the aliveness radiating from her. Every touch, every taste made Maria feel less like a ghost and more like a woman.

When they finally parted, breathless and trembling, Maria’s lips tingled, a phantom heat lingering on them. She pressed her forehead against Guadalupe's, her chest heaving as if she had lungs again. "So do you accept my apology?" Guadalupe asked between breaths.

Maria nodded. "Yes."

"Come inside?" Guadalupe asked.

"Si."

Guadalupe and Maria entered the cottage. Guadalupe fixed them both a cup of Chamomile tea. "So that was something. I never imagined my first kiss would be with a ghost."

Maria’s eyes widened. "You've never kissed anyone?"

Guadalupe shook her head. "Nope. I'm a bonafide virgin."

"I hate that your first kiss was with a monster like me."

"I don't," Guadalupe said as she set a hand on Maria’s hand. "I like having you around."

Maria laughed. "I never imagined hearing something like that." And then, Maria could imagine it. She could imagine an existence without the wailing, the suffering- an existence with joy, and love? The thought shocked her, but this time, she didn’t run away. She thought of Guadalupe's tree-like eyes. "I think I could use your help with something."

"Name it."

"Can you change me somehow?"

"How do you mean?"

"I want to be less ghost; when I’m with you I feel more real, more corporal. I want to feel like that all the time."

Guadalupe frowned. "Hmm, I think I know what you mean." She rose and looked through her bookshelves. "I know a spell that might help. However, it will take concentration and some ingredients I have to look for. This will be a test of my magic. It will take some time. I’ll have everything prepared by the next full moon."

Maria nodded. "Thank you, Guadalupe."

The days passed by like a slow bite of a large plum. Maria and Guadalupe spent their evenings chatting, sharing meals, and, occasionally, kissing. As she followed the river every night to Guadalupe’s cottage, memories of her queerness surfaced. She wondered over and over why her queerness was never part of her story.

On another note, though Maria looked forward to the change, she found internally she was changing. One peculiar night, she followed past the river. She journeyed until she found herself on a gravel road with miles of country on each side. She felt the wind feathering through the wild grass and trees. It was all refreshing. And, she found Guadalupe was right. She was indeed making herself atone for not enduring, for not fitting the mold the world had designed for her. In response, she had inflicted her own suffering. She wept, but this time, she wept for herself. Maria lifted her head to the wide open sky, and felt as light as a bird.

On the day Maria had gathered all the ingredients and made all the preparations, Guadalupe greeted Maria with a dour look. "Estas bien?"

Guadalupe bit her lip. "I was thinking. If I perform this spell, you can’t move on."

"What do you mean?"

"Well-" Guadalupe took Maria's hand. "If we keep going like this, most likely you can move on and finally know rest. If I perform the spell, you won’t be able to die. You’ll almost be immortal. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. Don’t you want to rest?"

Maria thought about it. She could leave all this behind. She could know true peace. Except, she felt plenty peaceful when she was around Guadalupe- sweet, strong Guadalupe who showed her so much kindness and humanity- pure Guadalupe who she was definitely in love with. Only this time, Maria would not run from this unfamiliar feeling- this uncharted territory. "I don't care for rest. I just want a different existence," she declared with clarity.

"But what about moving on? What about peace?"

"I don't want to move on without you. Peace without you is not peace at all."

Guadalupe blushed, her face submerged in red. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not?" Maria stepped closer to Guadalupe. Maria's tall form shadowed Guadalupe's lean frame.

"You'll make me think you’re in love with me, and that scares me because I'm in love with you. I'm so selfish."

Maria chuckled. "How so?"

"I am happy you want to be with me, but I hope you won't regret not having the chance to move on."

Maria shook her head slowly, her dark eyes glistening with a quiet resolve. "I am in love with you," she said.

Without waiting for a response, Maria leaned in, her hand tracing a slow saunter along her lover's jaw. Her lips pressed softly at first, tasting the lingering sweetness of plums shared just that morning. The kiss deepened, and Maria hoped she felt how sure she was through every gentle stroke of her cheek. When she finally pulled back, her lips lingered just a breath away, her eyes searching for the doubt that had singed away.

"Okay."

Guadalupe ran a bath with herbs, blessings, oils, and candles lit around the tub. She transformed the bathroom into an opulent cocoon. She instructed Maria to get into the tub. Guadalupe had the grimoire open to the spell she learned to memorize. The bathroom swelled with powerful magic.

When Maria stepped into the tub and closed her eyes, Guadalupe began the chant- the words coming out like a prayer to the old gods. Maria closed her eyes, trusting her girlfriend’s strength and magic. Guadalupe laid her soft hands over Maria. Something in Maria shifted and changed. Maria waited and waited and waited. The chant was long, but Guadalupe held Maria firmly.

Maria's memories felt like they were drowning her. She remembered the man, his lover, the many victims, her ninos, and her abuela. But she also remembered the aroma of her abuela’s kitchen, the girls she kissed, the cologne of her ex-husband, and the flowers always in her hair. Something shifted and pulled and warped.

Finally, when it was all over, she opened her eyes, and she felt different. She reached out to touch Maria, and she could feel the softness of her cheek. She kissed her and savored the potency of her lips. Maria was no longer La Llorona; she was no longer a vengeful ghost. But she wasn't alive either. She was reborn a revenant, and she was free to write her own story however she wanted.