📖 The Witch Who Wanted the Palace 🧹

The Fables of Power – Old grudges, new costumes, timeless quarrels

📖 The Witch Who Wanted the Palace 🧹

✍️ Introduction

Long ago, in the land of Paris, there lived a witch with clever eyes and carefully combed hair. She was the daughter of an old warlock whose spells were so foul that even his own people banished him. He had denied the darkest curses of history and filled his cauldron with hate for strangers. When strangers confronted her about her family’s past, the witch stamped her feet. “A witch hunt!” she cried.

🎭 Hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue.”
— François de La Rochefoucauld

🪄 The Tale

The witch, seeing her father’s disgrace, decided she would wear finer clothes, speak with softer words, and polish her broomstick until it shone like gold. “I am not like him,” she declared. But her cauldron still bubbled with the same bitter brew — only now it was served in crystal glasses.

The villagers began to whisper: “Perhaps this witch is not so bad. She smiles. She speaks of family, nation, and pride. Maybe she belongs in the palace.”

At the palace gates, she waited. But the halls were already occupied by Lord Autonomy, the stubborn Duke, who clung to his chair as though it were a family heirloom. He proclaimed that only he could protect the kingdom’s independence, though he leaned heavily on his neighbours’ purses and goodwill.

The Witch circled, broom in hand, whispering of the day she would sweep Lord Autonomy away. And inside, the Duke held tighter, blind to how fragile his throne had become.

But then, after a trip to Muscovy, the rumours started and curious children peered inside her cupboards. They found bags of gold borrowed from across the seas — a gift from the Black Knight of Muscovy, who always smiled when witches stirred trouble in Europe. They found scrolls of ledgers, where funds meant for the people had mysteriously vanished into enchanted pockets.

When confronted, the witch stamped her feet. “A witch hunt!” she cried, just as the Mob Boss across the ocean shouted whenever caught with his hand in the chest of silver.

Still, she waits by the gates of the palace, broomstick in hand, ready to sweep her way in. And some villagers, weary and forgetful, line up to follow her.

⚖️ Moral of the Tale

A witch who cries ‘hunt’ at every crime may yet find herself trapped in her own cauldron.

🎭 Closing Line

The stage of the world is never empty. The next fable is already being written…

🗼 Next Fable Preview

The Mob Boss and His Golden Tower
A boastful builder trades bricks for lies, calling every trial a witch hunt while his followers cheer beneath crumbling walls.

📌 Blog Excerpt

Once the daughter of a disgraced warlock, the Witch of Paris polished her broomstick and softened her tone. But her cauldron still bubbled with the same old brew of fear — now served in crystal glasses. Waiting at the palace gates, she cries “witch hunt!” as her past, her patrons, and her ambitions catch up with her.

WJJH, September, 2025