The Daughter of the Witch

The Daughter of the Witch

Once, in a house at the very edge of a city, lived a woman whom everyone called a witch. She knew the names of herbs, could read signs in the wind, and could look at a candle so that its flame bent toward her as if listening.

The witch had a daughter named Guiomar. Unlike her mother, Guiomar did not like ordering people about, and she never used magic merely for amusement. Most of all, she loved the garden where grapes, rosemary, and little white roses grew.

There she met a young prince from a neighbouring kingdom. He often came to the city without an escort or fine clothes because he wanted to see how ordinary people lived. He and Guiomar talked for a long time beside the garden wall, and soon they understood that they wanted to be together.

But Guiomar’s mother disapproved.

“Princes make promises easily,” she said. “Then they return to their palaces.”

“Then let him prove he is not afraid of difficulty,” Guiomar replied.

Her mother agreed, but planned trials that she thought no one could fulfil.

One evening the prince came to the house in a plain cloak, like a traveller, and asked for a place to sleep.

The witch looked at him for a long time.

“Very well. Stay. But in the morning you will have work.”

The next day she gave him a great clay pot.

“Before sunset, bring me this pot full of dry bird droppings for garden fertilizer.”

The prince was bewildered. Where could he find so much in one day?

Guiomar said quietly, “Do not worry. Put the pot by the old city wall where the swallows nest. Return in the evening.”

He did as she said. When the sun began to set, the pot was full.

The mother narrowed her eyes.

“Guiomar helped you.”

“I completed the task,” said the prince calmly.

Then the witch said, “Tomorrow you will plant a grapevine. By evening you will bring me a basket of ripe grapes from that very plant.”

That seemed even more impossible.

But Guiomar helped again.

“Plant the vine beside the warm stone behind the garden and water it from the little spring.”

The prince planted the slender shoot. By evening he saw a green vine hung with heavy purple bunches.

The witch took the basket and sighed.

“Now I know for certain that my daughter is on your side.”

That night Guiomar said to the prince, “Mother will not stop. She will invent trials until we give one another up. I do not want to quarrel with her through magic any longer. Let us leave and decide for ourselves how we wish to live.”

At dawn they set out.

When her mother came back and realized Guiomar was gone, she sent Guiomar’s father after them.

Guiomar looked behind and saw him far down the road.

“I do not want him to force us back. Let us hide.”

She touched the ground. The prince became a long country road, and Guiomar became a grey-haired traveller with a sack over her shoulder.

Her father ran up and asked, “Good sir, have you seen a girl and a young man?”

The grey traveller replied cleverly, “I sell walnuts and buy garlic. I sell garlic and buy walnuts.”

The father understood nothing and went home.

When the witch heard his story, she guessed the magic at once.

“Go back!” she said. “That was Guiomar.”

He ran after them again.

This time Guiomar changed the prince into a little chapel by the road, while she became an old caretaker with a bell.

“Have two young people passed this way?” her father asked.

The caretaker rang the bell.

“Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling,

time for every soul to sing.”

No matter how often the father asked, the caretaker answered only with the bell and the little rhyme. At last he went home once more.

Then Guiomar’s mother decided to go herself.

Guiomar saw her coming and grew worried.

“Mother knows all my tricks. But we will try once more.”

The prince became a broad river, and Guiomar became a little silver fish.

The witch came to the bank and understood at once.

“Guiomar, come home.”

The fish struck her tail three times against the water: no.

The mother was silent for a long time. Then she said, “I cannot force you to return. But let the prince test his own memory and faithfulness. When he enters his palace, the first sincere kiss from someone close to him will make him forget your name.”

Then she went away.

When the magic vanished, Guiomar said, “Be careful. Everyone in the palace will be happy that you have come back.”

The prince promised that he would not forget.

But the journey had been long. At the palace he was so tired that he fell asleep in an armchair. His younger sister saw the brother who had been gone so long, embraced him, and kissed his forehead.

When he woke, Guiomar stood before him.

“Who are you?” the prince asked politely.

Guiomar understood at once that her mother’s words had come true.

She did not weep before everyone or demand that he believe her. Instead, she settled in a small house opposite the palace and decided to return his memories through familiar images, not by force.

A few days later the prince saw an unknown girl in the window. Something in her gaze seemed strangely familiar.

He came to her.

“I think we have met before.”

“Perhaps,” said Guiomar. “Would you like to walk down a certain road?”

She opened the door to the next room.

Suddenly the prince saw a long country road, and along it walked a grey traveller carrying a sack.

“I sell walnuts and buy garlic…” he heard.

The prince froze.

“I have heard that before.”

They opened the second door. There stood a little chapel, and beside it a caretaker rang a bell.

“Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling…”

The prince pressed a hand to his temple.

“I remember the road. And the chase.”

Behind the third door shone a broad river. A silver fish flashed in the water.

Then everything returned: the garden, the grapes, the trials, the flight, and his promise not to forget.

“Guiomar!” he cried. “I truly forgot you, but not because I wanted to.”

“I know,” she said. “What matters now is that you remembered for yourself.”

The prince asked her forgiveness, and Guiomar accepted it.

Soon they were married. Before the wedding, however, Guiomar sent her mother a letter.

“I am not running away from you forever. I am choosing my own life. If you wish to come without trials and curses, our door will be open.”

Several months passed. One day, a plain carriage stopped by the palace. Guiomar’s mother stepped out. There was no thunder, no magic, and no command.

In her hands she held a basket of grapes.

“This time they grew in the ordinary way,” she said.

Guiomar smiled and embraced her mother.

In the palace garden, they planted the same vine with which the trials had begun. It grew slowly, as a real vine should, but every year it bore sweet clusters.

And everyone remembered that the strongest things do not appear overnight. Trust, love, and reconciliation must grow too.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨