Red and Black and Shiny All Over
One of the many subjects of my research is one I’ve actually had the pleasure of speaking to a rare few times - the Witch Entom! Her unfortunate reputation is due almost entirely to the poor public perception of her (firstly) being a witch and (second) having a fairly singular affinity for insects. I feel a call to contradict this reputation, and having obtained her permission (some years ago) to write about her, will do so here.
The Witch Entom (hereafter referred to simply as Entom) knows little of her own childhood, as she was abandoned at a very young age, as deplorably and frequently happens to particularly Helltouched children. It must be the case that before she was old enough for proper memories to take root that her infernal nature began to show, as antennae sprouted from her head, her eyes became segmented like a fly’s, as her skin grew into tough, chitinous exoskeleton. Her earliest memories with any clarity are of her trying to survive in a forest, supported by what she could find and what scraps were left to her by the pity of nearby villagers. She makes particular note of a great tree filled with bees and honey that she sheltered inside for some years until she outgrew it. She learned and grew quickly as she ranged about the forest of her youth, noting the behaviors of insects and taking to their ways. Swarms would follow her, and if she strayed too near farms or towns, so would the consequences of said swarms. Farmers, innkeepers, and the kind of folk who are squeamish at the various creepy crawlies of the world would shoo her away as best they could. Bugs who did not welcome her, however, were at worst ambivalent, which was better than the antipathy that met her in “civilization”. Her life as a hermit was a choice foisted on her by others.
And yet, many insects are eusocial! Termites, bees, ants, some groups of summer fae, and some shrimp (the bugs of the sea!) participate in societies! Is it not natural for any person, especially one with an insect’s affinity, to desire some amount of companionship, some amount of good for the group, some feeling of belonging?
So it was not unnatural for her to respond both timidly and kindly to the first person who sought her help. Time was short, as locusts were attacking a farmer’s crop - could she do anything? Entom would help, and due to her, over two thirds of the crops of an entire village were saved. A child gravely stung by many wasps was healed because her mother sought the bugwitch in desperation. There may be more insects in one forest than across the entirety of the world, and finding those lost in the wilderness is a triviality, if one can but ask. Many such needs arose, and so did she to the challenge of each one, seeking no thanks. It is for the good of society.
Some years ago, there was a termite infestation here in The Floating Oak. This was especially concerning, given the strange nature of the building, and the tree that was as much magic as wood. They began exhibiting many strange, unpredictable behaviors. Some would grow, some would teleport, some would write ominous messages on the walls, and there were three discrete groups that would summon tiny hailstorms when they congregated. To my best guess after long observation, one started a cult. Because of the unusual way the shop itself interacts with space… There was no possible way I could guess how far they had burrowed. After weeks of unsuccessful attempts myself to oust them, I decided to pay her a visit.
It took me some time to find Entom, but my search eventually brought me to a large, hollowed tree in a glade. She hid from me at first, in the high boughs of her home, but after I spoke with her at some length, she skittered down and greeted me. She was wearing robes of leaves and fine undyed silk. Her carapace shone brightly in the dappled sun, and her (admittedly difficult to parse) smile was genuine. Her home was charming; spiderwebs laced the windows like curtains, beetles shimmered across the walls, and the humming of bees and chirping of crickets was a constant music. There was, of course, the grisly side… The “beads” in the spiderwebs were caught insects, mosquitoes and flies were everywhere, and it was difficult to step anywhere without killing other guests of the home - but that is the way of nature, and it was a lively, colorful, friendly place.
Entom listened to my plight, and she agreed to help at once. When I brought her here, she merely spoke to the termites and they marched out in a great motley swarm. The most remarkable thing was the way they brought the queen out on a finely made, tiny palanquin. As payment, I offered to let her pick what she liked from my available inventory. She told me that she needed nothing, that her new “friends” made the trip more than worth it, but I insisted. We compromised - she took the Personal Raincloud, saying it could provide relief on hot days, help loosen soil for her little arthropod friends to burrow, and other such things. She gave me her Ladybird Tunic.
It is a tunic of undyed, plain silk, with what appears to be thousands of beads embroidered into it. On closer inspection, these beads are tiny ladybug carapaces. Someone capable of communing with insects can cause the back to furl open into giant ladybug wings, allowing the wearer to fly for a short time. In a pinch, the ladybug shells can shift together, becoming harder than a breastplate.
It was given unconditionally - it has been added to the shop’s inventory, though at a high price. I’m unlikely to part with it for anything other than a good reason, though. To me, it is a symbol of friendship, and an example of Entom’s kindness and generosity.
It occurs to me, not that I didn’t understand so before, that people are not so different from bugs and witches.