Once again I have a story for you. This time it is a story about the rule of Hospitality and how all-binding it is among the feyfolk, so all-binding that even the most wicked of witches need to be a good host or end up like the villain of today’s story. I admit I was aiming for a fable but ended up with an old-fashioned fairytale. Not surprising because the thing to write this story (and the other 5 stories of this collection) was a video by the folks at Extra History on the classic Russian fairytale Vasilisa the Beautiful, one of the better-known fairytales to feature the witch Baba Yaga. I highly recommend the content of the folks at Extra History and their original channel Extra Credits.The link to the video is Baba Yaga – When Wishes Come True – European – Extra Mythology. Now let us gather around the fire to hear the tale of Molly and the Hag

Molly and the Hag

Once upon a time in the feyrealm, amidst the rolling hills and ancient forests, there lived a young ailfyr girl, or as they are known to the mortal folk hobgoblins, named Molly MacTavish.  Born into a family of once-wealthy merchants, Molly’s life took a drastic turn when her father’s trading fleet met a tragic end in a storm, leaving their fortunes in ruins.

Now relegated to a small town in the countryside, Molly and her family struggled to make ends meet, their once-glorious reputation tarnished by misfortune. But despite the hardships they faced, Molly remained determined to help her family in any way she could, taking on a Herculean workload to keep their trading post afloat.

Yet, even as she toiled tirelessly to support her loved ones, Molly found herself the target of cruel mockery and scorn from the other girls in town. Led by a trio of snobbish peers—Jenny the centaur, Fiona the fairy, and Eilish the goblin—Molly endured their taunts and jibes with stoic resolve, her spirit unbroken despite their best efforts to break her down.

But what Molly’s tormentors did not know was that she possessed a secret power hidden beneath her humble exterior. Though she had little time to study under the tutelage of the local witch, Miss ó Broin, Molly was a natural when it came to magic, her innate abilities far surpassing those of her peers.

With a simple whistle, Molly could summon forth a cadre of spirit familiars, invisible to all but herself, who aided her in her chores and tasks with uncanny precision. Whether it be fetching water from the well or mending clothes by the hearth, her loyal companions stood ready to assist her at a moment’s notice, their silent presence a testament to Molly’s hidden talents.

One day her father needed to deliver a package of medicine to a neighboring town, however, there was no one to take the package. He had no workers at the trading post and he could not leave the post unmanned. Molly’s mother, had taken ill, and her elder brother and sister were absent on their own urgent chores, so it fell to Molly to deliver a package to the town on the other side of the forest. Though hesitant to let her venture into the woods alone, Molly’s father had no choice but to entrust her with the task, knowing that she was their only hope of completing the delivery in time.

With a heavy heart and a sense of duty weighing upon her, Molly set out at first light, her footsteps echoing through the quiet streets of the town as she made her way towards the edge of the forest. But before she could reach the safety of the trees, she found herself accosted by her tormentors—Jenny, Fiona, and Eilish—whose mocking laughter cut through the crisp morning air like a knife.

“Look who it is, the little ailfyr girl,” Jenny sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as she eyed Molly up and down. “Off on another one of her silly errands, no doubt.”

Fiona chimed in with a mocking laugh, her delicate wings fluttering with malicious glee. “I hear she’s too busy playing with her invisible friends to bother with real chores,” she jeered, her words laced with venom.

Eilish, ever eager to join in on the taunting, added her own cruel barb. “And just look at her clothes! Did she patch them herself, I wonder? Such a sorry sight.”

But despite their best efforts to provoke her, Molly remained steadfast, her gaze fixed firmly ahead as she pressed on towards the forest. With each step, her resolve hardened, until at last she was out of sight of the town, her tormentors left behind in a cloud of dust and frustration.

Alone amidst the towering trees, Molly breathed a sigh of relief, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. And then, with a simple whistle, she summoned forth her spectral companion—a ghostly pony with eyes as bright as stars and a mane that shimmered like moonlight. With a practiced ease born of years of companionship, Molly mounted the ethereal steed and urged it forward into the woods.

When Molly reached the town on the other side of the forest, the midday sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets below. She quickly found the package’s recipient and with her task complete, Molly breathed a sigh of relief, her spirits buoyed by a sense of accomplishment. But as she made her way back towards the forest, her heart sank at the sight of dark clouds gathering on the horizon, ominous harbingers of the storm to come. With a sense of urgency gnawing at her heart, Molly wasted no time in beginning her journey back home, knowing full well the dangers that awaited her in the forest.

But even as she set out on the familiar path that led through the woods, dark clouds began to gather overhead, blotting out the afternoon sun with their ominous presence. The air grew heavy with the promise of rain, and a sense of foreboding settled over the land like a shroud.

In the lands of the summer court of the fey, violent storms were a common occurrence, their fury unleashed without warning upon those unfortunate enough to find themselves caught in their path. And as Molly rode on, her spectral pony carrying her swiftly through the dense undergrowth, she could sense the storm drawing ever closer, its fury building with each passing moment.

Then, with a suddenness that took her breath away, the storm descended upon her, unleashing its full fury upon the forest with a deafening roar. The sky flashed with lightning, illuminating the darkened canopy above, while thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.

Blinded by the driving rain and disoriented by the cacophony of sound, Molly struggled to maintain her bearings as she rode on, her senses overwhelmed by the ferocity of the storm. And before she knew it, she had veered off the path and into the heart of the forest, hopelessly lost amidst the twisting maze of trees and underbrush.

Desperate for shelter from the raging tempest, Molly scanned the horizon for any sign of refuge, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty. And then, through the driving rain, she spotted it—a faint glimmer of light shining in the distance, like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

With renewed determination, Molly urged her spectral pony forward, the light growing steadily brighter with each passing moment. And as she drew closer, she could make out the outline of a large homestead nestled amidst the trees, its windows aglow with warm, inviting light. Without hesitation, Molly guided her steed towards the welcoming glow, her heart filled with relief at the prospect of finding shelter from the storm, not knowing the danger she traveling towards.

Now, deep within the heart of the forest, amidst the tangled thickets and murky mire, there dwelled a hag by the name of Gormlaith Thornwood. Her abode, a teetering old mansion shrouded in shadows, loomed ominously amidst the trees, its twisted spires reaching toward the sky like gnarled fingers clawing at the heavens.

Gormlaith was no ordinary hag, for she possessed a taste for flesh that knew no bounds, whether it be mortal or feyfolk. With cunning and guile, she would venture into the mortal realms, tricking and trapping unsuspecting souls to serve as the main ingredients for her foul feasts.

And so it was that when Molly MacTavish wandered into her domain, Gormlaith saw an opportunity too tempting to resist. With a crooked smile and a gleam in her eye, she set her sights on the unsuspecting girl, her mind already devising a plan to ensnare her in her wicked web.

Bound by the cardinal rules of the fey like all hags, Gormlaith knew she could not simply slay Molly and devour her as she pleased. The rule of hospitality forbade such acts, mandating that all visitors to one’s home be treated with courtesy and generosity, at least until they proved themselves unworthy of such hospitality.

And so, with a flick of her gnarled fingers and a whispered incantation, Gormlaith transformed herself into a kindly old woman, her twisted features softened by a veneer of false warmth and kindness. Likewise, her mansion was cloaked in illusion, its decrepit facade replaced by a facade of warmth and welcome, beckoning Molly inside with promises of safety and shelter from the storm.

Meanwhile, Molly trudged through the thickets surrounding Gormlaith’s domain, a lightning strike sent a shiver down her spine, causing her spectral pony familiar to vanish into thin air. With a sense of unease gnawing at her heart, she pressed on towards the distant lights, her steps quickening with each passing moment as the storm raged on around her.

And then, through the driving rain and swirling mist, she saw it—the quaint and charming house that stood before her, its inviting facade beckoning her closer with promises of warmth and shelter. Unaware of the sinister truth that lay hidden beneath its surface, Molly approached the door with trepidation, her heart pounding in her chest as she raised a trembling hand to knock.

With a creak of ancient hinges, the door swung open before her, revealing the figure of a kindly older elf woman standing on the threshold, her features softened by a veneer of false warmth and hospitality.

“Goodness gracious, my dear, whatever are you doing out in this dreadful storm?” Gormlaith exclaimed, her voice dripping with feigned concern as she ushered Molly inside. “Come in, come in, and warm yourself by the fire. You poor thing, you must be positively soaked to the bone!”

Grateful for the offer of shelter, Molly stepped inside, her senses reeling from the sudden change in atmosphere as she crossed the threshold into Gormlaith’s domain. But as she entered the cozy interior of the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss, a sense of unease lingering in the back of her mind like a shadow.

As Molly warmed herself by the crackling fire, Gormlaith watched her every move with a predatory gaze, her eyes gleaming with malice as she stoked the oven with every bit of firewood she could find. With each log that disappeared into the hungry flames, the hag’s anticipation grew, her twisted mind already concocting a plan to ensnare her unsuspecting guest in her wicked trap.

Predictably, as the wood for the fireplace began to dwindle, Molly turned to Gormlaith with a polite inquiry. “Excuse me, ma’am, but do you happen to have any more firewood?” she asked, her voice tinged with a note of concern.

Gormlaith, ever the picture of false kindness, shook her head with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid we’ve nearly run out,” she replied, her voice dripping with feigned regret. “But fear not, for there’s plenty more wood in the woodshed out behind the house. Would you be a dear and fetch me, oh say, six bundles of firewood, if you please?”

Molly nodded in agreement, her heart heavy with the weight of the task ahead. “Of course, ma’am,” she said, her voice tinged with determination. “I’ll go fetch the wood right away.”

But before she could make her way to the woodshed, Gormlaith interjected with one final request. “Oh, and my dear, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, her voice laced with false sweetness, “please try not to track any dirt or mud back into the house when you return. It’s such a bother to clean, you see.” Molly promised to be careful, her mind already racing with thoughts of the looming storm outside. 

Outside, the storm raged on with relentless fury, the sound of thunder echoing through the night like the booming of a distant drum. Undeterred by the tempest, Molly stood on the back porch of Gormlaith’s house, her eyes fixed on the woodshed across the yard, its outline barely visible through the driving rain.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Molly summoned forth her spectral familiars with a sharp whistle, their forms materializing before her as a trio of majestic Clydesdales. Without hesitation, she mounted one of the sturdy workhorses, its powerful legs churning through the mud with ease as it carried her across the yard toward the woodshed. Despite the treacherous conditions, Molly remained resolute, her determination unwavering as she loaded the horses with six bundles of wood and prepared to make the journey back to the house. 

And to Gormlaith’s astonishment, when Molly finally returned to the house, she did so without a speck of mud upon her, her clothes pristine and her demeanor calm and collected. With each bundle of wood she carried inside, the hag’s disbelief grew, her plans to ensnare the girl in jeopardy as she watched in dumbfounded silence. For try as she might, Gormlaith could not fathom how Molly had managed to traverse the yard without so much as a trace of mud upon her. And as Molly coaxed the dying fire back to life with practiced ease, Gormlaith could only watch in stunned silence, her hopes of feasting upon the girl’s flesh that night slipping through her gnarled fingers like grains of sand

As the night wore on and the storm continued to rage outside, Molly found herself nestled in a bed within the confines of Gormlaith’s homestead. Meanwhile, the hag herself spent the night plotting and scheming, her twisted mind concocting a new plan to ensnare her unsuspecting guest in her wicked web.

And then, in a flash of inspiration, it came to her—a devious scheme that would put Molly to the test like never before. Instead of assigning her one impossible task, she would give her multiple tasks, each more daunting than the last. And if, by some miracle, Molly managed to complete even a portion of them, Gormlaith would reap the benefits of free labor.

With her plan in place, Gormlaith awoke the next morning with a feigned cough and a theatrical groan, pretending that her health was taking a turn for the worse. Turning to Molly with a pitiful expression, she implored the young ailfyr girl for assistance with the day’s chores.

“Dear Molly, I fear I am not feeling well today,” Gormlaith croaked, her voice dripping with false concern. “Would you be so kind as to help me with the chores? I fear I am in no condition to do them myself.”

Molly, ever the dutiful guest, agreed without hesitation, grateful for the opportunity to repay Gormlaith’s hospitality. And so, with a sense of purpose and determination, she set about her tasks, her spirit companions by her side to lend a helping hand.

With a sharp whistle, Molly summoned her spectral friends to aid her in her endeavors. The Clydesdales helped her carry the massive amount of firewood inside, their powerful legs making short work of the heavy bundles. A trio of monkeys darted about the giant house, dusting and mopping with lightning speed. A bear lumbered over to help with the massive pile of  laundry, its massive paws stirring the clothes with ease. All of Molly’s animal companions assisted her in the kitchen, chopping, stirring, and cooking with a skill and efficiency that belied their ethereal nature.

As Gormlaith looked on in amazement, she could scarcely believe her eyes. How could this mere girl accomplish so much in so little time? It was as if she possessed a magic all her own, a power that defied explanation and left the hag utterly bewildered. And so, as Molly worked tirelessly throughout the day, Gormlaith’s confusion only grew, her mind racing with questions and doubts

As the storm continued to rage outside, Gormlaith’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, her mind consumed with thoughts of trapping Molly once and for all. With a determined glint in her eye, she resolved to make one final attempt to ensnare the young ailfyr girl, this time using temptation as her weapon of choice.

When they awoke to find the storm still raging outside, Gormlaith turned to Molly with a sly smile, her voice laced with false sweetness. “My dear Molly, for being such a gracious houseguest, I’ve decided to bake you the most delicious pie you’ve ever tasted,” she declared, her words dripping with honeyed charm.

But Gormlaith was not about to make it easy for the girl. “You’ll have to wait until supper to enjoy the pie, my dear,” she said with a knowing wink. “Eating sweets before dinner is simply not done, you know.”

And so, with a wicked grin, Gormlaith hid herself using a powerful spell and waited, her heart pounding with anticipation as she watched Molly go about her chores with a sense of determination that bordered on saintly. But to Gormlaith’s growing annoyance, Molly remained steadfast in her resolve, refusing to so much as glance in the direction of the tantalizing pie that sat upon the windowsill. Even when the hag decided to forgo preparing dinner altogether in a desperate bid to make Molly hungry enough to sneak a piece, the girl remained resolute, her willpower unshaken by the pangs of hunger that gnawed at her stomach.

And as the day wore on and Gormlaith’s own hunger grew, her patience wore thin. With a snarl of frustration, she abandoned all pretense of hospitality, her mind consumed by thoughts of satisfying her ravenous appetite by devouring the girl before her. Consequences be damned she thought, Gormlaith resolved to end Molly’s life once and for all.

As Molly sat at the dinner table, awaiting Gormlaith’s arrival, she watched in horror as the illusion that had veiled the hag’s abode began to dissipate, revealing the true horror of Gormlaith’s lair in all its grotesque detail. At that moment, everything clicked for Molly, and she knew she had to escape before it was too late.

With a steely resolve, Molly rose from her seat and made a beeline for the door, her heart pounding in her chest as she sought to flee the clutches of the vile hag. But before she could reach safety, Gormlaith appeared before her in all her hideous glory, her green skin twisted into a grotesque grin as she brandished a large cleaver in her gnarled hands.

“Where do you think you’re going, my delicious little morsel?” the hag cackled, her voice dripping with malice as she advanced towards Molly with murderous intent.

With a scream of terror, Molly turned and fled towards the basement, her only hope of escape lying below in the dark depths of Gormlaith’s foul abode. Slamming the door shut behind her, she barred it with all her strength, the sound of Gormlaith’s pounding fists echoing through the dank corridors as the hag sought to break through and claim her prey.

Terrified and alone, Molly knew she needed help if she was to survive the night. With a sharp whistle, she summoned forth a bear whose massive form appeared before her to brace the door close.

As the pounding on the door grew louder and more frantic, Molly searched desperately for a way out, her heart racing with fear as she struggled to find an escape route. But there was none, there were no windows no other door than the one that led down to the basement from the house. Then there was a sudden fizzing crackle of magic from somewhere above, sending a chill down her spine as she realized that Gormlaith was unleashing her dark powers to break down the door.

Molly whistled once more, summoning forth more of her faithful animal companions to reinforce the barricade, she could hear the door straining against their combined strength, threatening to give way at any moment. With each splintering crack, panic surged through her veins, driving her to search the room with frantic desperation for anything that might aid her in her escape.

The hag’s basement workshop was a labyrinth of strange ingredients and potions, each more mysterious and arcane than the last. Molly’s heart sank as she rifled through the clutter, finding nothing that offered any hope of reprieve from the looming threat of Gormlaith’s wrath. But then, as she reached the corner of the room, her eyes fell upon a large cabinet filled with all manner of curiosities, and something caught her attention.

At the very top of the cabinet, just out of reach, sat a small object that glimmered in the dim light of the workshop. With a surge of determination, Molly reached out, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the object before it slipped from its precarious perch and tumbled down towards her.

With a sharp thud, the object struck Molly on the head, sending a jolt of pain shooting through her skull. As she recoiled, her eyes widened in shock as she beheld the object that now lay at her feet—a unicorn’s horn, shimmering with a faint ethereal glow.

In that moment, a flood of memories washed over Molly—the lessons she had received from Miss ó Broin, the rituals of summoning and invocation, and the whispered tales of magical creatures that inhabited the realms beyond mortal ken. And with a newfound sense of purpose, she closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer to Déantóir Gach Ní, the Maker of All Things.

With a clear, resounding whistle, Molly called forth the spirits of the fey, her voice ringing out with a clarity and strength that belied her fear. And as she opened her eyes once more, a ghostly apparition materialized before her—an otherworldly unicorn, its form bathed in a soft, silver light.

As Gormlaith unleashed her dark magic upon the shattered remnants of the door, her twisted grin widened with each bolt that tore through the feeble barrier, reducing it to little more than a pile of splinters that lay strewn across the threshold. With a triumphant cackle, she prepared to descend into the depths of her lair to claim her prize, when suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed through the chamber, and the sound of hooves upon the stairs heralded the arrival of an unexpected adversary.

Before Gormlaith could react, Molly and the spectral unicorn came charging up the staircase with a ferocity that took the hag by surprise. With a mighty collision, they slammed into Gormlaith, sending her reeling backward with a force that shook the very foundations of her cursed abode. As the hag struggled to regain her footing, Molly and the unicorn wasted no time in launching a counterattack, their combined strength and resolve driving them forward with unrelenting determination.

With a swift kick of its hooves, the unicorn delivered a powerful blow to Gormlaith’s skull, sending her crashing to the ground in a daze. As the hag lay motionless upon the floor, Molly knew that she had triumphed over her tormentor at last. Without a second glance, she spurred the spectral steed onward, galloping through the crumbling ruins of Gormlaith’s lair and into the night.

As they rode, the storm began to break, and the first rays of dawn pierced the veil of darkness, casting a warm glow upon the horizon. And as Molly rode into her hometown, the weary but triumphant heroine was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of home, her heart filled with a sense of relief and gratitude as she left the horrors of Gormlaith’s domain behind her

Breathless and trembling, Molly burst through the door of her home, her heart pounding with relief as she beheld the familiar faces of her family gathered before her. Her parents and older siblings turned to her with expressions of mingled relief and concern, their eyes filled with worry for her safety.

“Molly, dear child, where have you been?” her mother cried, rushing forward to embrace her daughter tightly.

“We were so worried when you didn’t come home,” her father added, his voice filled with the weight of unspoken fear. “But the storm was too fierce to venture out into the forest to search for you.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Molly recounted the harrowing ordeal she had endured in Gormlaith’s cursed abode, her words tumbling forth in a torrent of emotion as she spoke of the sinister hag and the spectral unicorn that had come to her aid.

“And look!” she exclaimed, holding aloft the gleaming horn of the unicorn, its ethereal beauty shimmering in the soft light of the room. “This is the horn of the unicorn that saved me from the clutches of the wicked old hag!”

Her family listened in awe as Molly recounted her tale, their eyes wide with disbelief at the miraculous turn of events. And as she finished speaking, her father’s face hardened with resolve, his eyes gleaming with determination.

“Come, my daughter,” he said, his voice firm with purpose. “We shall gather the townsfolk and end this hag once and for all.”

With grim determination, Molly’s father led the way as the townsfolk set out to confront Gormlaith, prepared to face whatever dangers awaited them in the depths of the forest. But to their astonishment, when they arrived at the hag’s decrepit abode, they found her lying lifeless upon the floor, her twisted form battered and broken by the hooves of the spectral unicorn.

As Molly’s father delved deeper into Gormlaith’s house, he uncovered a treasure trove of potions, rare ingredients, and magical artifacts hidden within its shadowy depths. With a keen eye for opportunity, he realized the value of these mystical treasures and wasted no time in gathering them up to be sold. And so, armed with the newfound wealth he had acquired, Molly’s father set about rebuilding their family’s fortunes, investing in a new ship and hiring a fresh crew to set sail once more upon the open seas.

With the gold from the sale of Gormlaith’s treasures, the MacTavish family’s luck began to change, their once-flagging fortunes revitalized by the windfall of riches that had come into their possession. And as their wealth grew, so too did Molly’s freedom, her days no longer consumed by endless chores and menial tasks.

Freed from the burdens of everyday life, Molly was finally able to devote herself wholeheartedly to the study of magic, honing her skills and mastering the arcane arts with a passion that burned brightly within her soul. With each passing day, she grew stronger and more powerful, her name soon becoming synonymous with tales of courage and heroism that spread far and wide across the feyrealm.

Years later, Molly emerged as a formidable witch in her own right, her reputation preceding her wherever she traveled. Known far and wide as “Molly the Good,” she rode forth upon her spectral unicorn, a beacon of hope and light in a world plagued by darkness and despair. And as she journeyed through the realms, she came to the aid of those in need, using her magic to right wrongs and vanquish evil wherever it reared its ugly head.

And so, dear readers, let this tale serve as a reminder to all who dwell within the feyrealm: even the most wicked of evildoers must abide by the sacred laws of hospitality, lest they meet a fate as grim as that of Gormlaith Thornwood.