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The worst part about losing a witch duel is not the possible permanence of what happens to you, or whether or not it’s humiliating, but when your punishment starts. Sure, we witches can be quite cruel but at least most of us give the losers their rewards in efficient time, unlike Aurora.

A couple of months ago she and I were in a duel, over something quite trivial. As evident I lost and that cruel bitch decided to really make me feel my loss. It was quite ordinary for our little coven to inflict transformation punishment on the losers.

Such as transforming them into a tree, books, clothing, etc. If they did this they’d often leave them somewhere out in the open where many unknowing mortals could pass right over you really hitting in how bad of a witch you were. For my reward, I was transformed into a pair of high heels.

I was quite a beautiful pair of light purple, almost maroon heels. That in itself was decently humiliating, being nothing but a pair of shoes, but what she did next was even more so. One would think the most logical place to put a transformed pair of witch shoes to make their punishment happen sooner would be a shoe shop.

I thought so too, but that bitch didn’t. Instead, where does put me, in a goddamn resale shop! Of all the places I could be why there, well it was pretty obvious to a seasoned witch. Part of what made our coven’s duel unique was that they were almost exclusively permanent punishments.

What I mean by that is that once you were transformed only another witch who found you, and who was kind enough to, could help you out. So, let's say I was transformed into a tree I’d a least have a chance for a fellow witch to find me if she was maybe doing an outdoor spell.

Here, though, would be the last place anyone would look for me. Given how high up in the coven I was, the winner of our duel told everyone what happened to me and where I should’ve ended up. With my whole coven not really having any motivation to look for me here of all places I’m definitely screwed.

Since then I’ve been stuck on this self, day in and day out. Sometimes a woman grabs me and looks me over but most simply just passes over me, one of the dozen pairs of shoes at this resale shop. If I do get bought I pray that it’s a fellow witch.

Katherine rarely went thrifting, when she did it was never for shoes. Although today something caught her eye about this pair of heels. They were quite noticeable, a beautiful pair among other bland ones, and, unlike the others, they seemed brand new. Looking them over she checked their size.

They were perfect. A beautiful color, new, and would fit perfectly. Reaching down she placed the heels into her basket and perused the shoes some more. Soon enough her thrifting adventure came to a close and as she checked out her new shoes she still had no idea that she had just condemned the witch inside to a lifetime of her feet.

It would only be revealed in a few short hours that Katherine was not a witch. At that point, I would have nothing left to do but resign myself to life like this. Nothing but a helpless foot receptacle, destined to be filled with her sweaty feet with no way to become myself again. I guess I might as well start thinking like a pair of heels. 

The image used doesn't belong to me and I will remove it at the behest of the copyright owner. I claim no ownership of the image. The image used is found here: https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/woman-shoe-shopping-thrift-store-498315787