Bad Women: A Tale of Monsters, Witches, and Courage

It all began with an unexpected confession on an ordinary afternoon.

“Valentina, my dear,” my mother’s voice trembled as she spoke my name, her frail fingers folding the edges of her worn shawl. The lines around her eyes deepened with unspoken worry. “There are truths I have hidden from you for far too long. Now that I feel my time shortening, you must hear them.”

I lowered my book, the words on the page blurring into shadows as her seriousness pulled me in. “What truths, Mama?”

She shifted closer, the chair creaking beneath her. “This world is far crueler than it admits. It fears what it cannot control—especially women like us. They call us bad women, witches, monsters. But I refuse to let you grow up in fear of their words or their darkness.”

Her words clung to the silence between us. My throat tightened. “But, Mama, what can I do?”

“You must live, Val. You must walk among the shadows they fear, learn their shape, and return with your own stories. You are strong. Stronger than they know. Out there, monsters wear many faces. Some look like wolves; others look like men. You must learn which is which.”

She reached behind her, pulling out a small, battered leather knapsack and placing it in my lap. “Inside is all you need: food, a blade for protection, and a blank notebook. Bring it back to me filled with stories worth passing on. That is how we survive, Val—through the tales we carry.”

Into the Unknown

Before dawn the next day, I stepped into the cold breath of the forest behind our cottage. My feet hesitated at the edge of the tangled woods, but my mother’s voice echoed inside me: Walk among the shadows they fear. I forced myself forward.

Hours slipped by under the hush of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. My mind replayed the old schoolyard legends—beasts with bloodied teeth, witches who cursed whole villages. My hands trembled on my knapsack straps, but I kept walking.

Then, a sound cut through the forest—a faint, pained whimper. Following the noise, I knelt to part the brambles and found a sight that twisted my heart: a small gray wolf, its side slick with blood.

“Help… me…” The wolf’s voice cracked the silence, a fragile whisper that defied every school lesson that told me wolves could not speak.

I lifted the creature carefully, its heartbeat fluttering against my chest. “Hold on,” I murmured, though I didn’t know who I was trying to comfort—me or the wolf.

The Witch in the Woods

I ran, calling for help. The forest seemed endless until a flicker of movement caught my eye—someone darting between the trees. I stumbled to a halt, breathless.

“Please! I need help!” I cried.

A girl stepped into the clearing, no older than me. She wore a cloak patched with mismatched fabric, and when her hair shifted, I saw her scarred face—half-hidden beneath burnt strands.

She said nothing. Instead, she knelt beside me, placed her palm over the wolf’s wound, and whispered words I did not understand. Light bloomed under her fingers. When she pulled her hand away, the wound had vanished.

The wolf leaped from my arms, bowing its head in gratitude before slipping back into the brush.

I turned to the girl. “Who are you?”

She flinched at my voice. “No one,” she whispered. “Forget you saw me.”

“But you saved her! Why hide?”

She lifted her chin, revealing the burned half of her face fully. “They call me a witch. They hunt us because they fear us.”

My heart squeezed. “Fear makes people cruel, Mama always said.”

The girl’s eyes softened. “I’m Minerva.”

“Valentina. Val.”

Unlikely Companions

Before I could say more, the bushes rustled again. The wolf reappeared—except, this time, she carried my knapsack in her jaws. When I reached for it, she dropped it at my feet, then nudged her head against my hand. As my fingers brushed her fur, a white light exploded, and the wolf dissolved into a silver-haired woman wrapped in a fur cloak.

“I am Stella,” she said with a smile. “A warlock cursed me to that form until a human showed me the same respect they’d offer another human. Today, you freed me.”

Minerva watched in stunned silence. Then, slowly, we all sat in the clearing—three strangers tied together by fate and fear.

Secrets Beneath the Waves

As twilight settled, we shared our stories. Stella spoke of fighting to unite man and beast until betrayal trapped her in her wolf form. Minerva described the hunter who burned half her face while trying to purge the forest of witches. And I told them of my father—gone at sea, lost to rumors of sirens that haunted his last voyage.

Minerva bit her lip. “If you want answers, we must find the sirens.”

Stella nodded. “But be prepared, Val. The truth can cut deeper than any curse.”

The Sirens’ Truth

Together, we reached the coastline by dawn. Stella stayed at the forest’s edge, refusing the sand. Minerva conjured a bubble of air so I could breathe beneath the waves.

I dove. The ocean swallowed me whole, guiding me to the skeleton of a sunken ship. Sirens circled its mast, their scales shimmering like knives in moonlight. One broke away, eyes sharp as broken glass.

“What do you seek, human?” she hissed.

“My father,” I said. “Did you kill him?”

The siren’s grin was a blade. “Men came here, claws hidden in smiles. They touched what was not theirs. He was no innocent sailor.”

Memories of my mother’s bruised face flashed in my mind. I thought of her silence and her sudden freedom after he vanished. The pieces fit, bitter as seawater on my tongue.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Do not apologize for monsters,” the siren said. “Promise me, girl—fear can make monsters of men. Break that cycle.”

I nodded. “I will.”

She pressed a pearl into my palm. “Squeeze this when you wish to return. And remember—be better.”

Coming Home

I emerged to Minerva’s waiting smile. “Ready to go home?”

I was. With a sprinkle of fairy dust, I found myself back at my mother’s door. I told her everything as she lay in bed, the shadows in her eyes lifting as she listened. When the last word left my lips, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, her final breath echoing in the quiet room.

When I buried her in the garden, Stella and Minerva stood by my side. The fairies she’d trusted fluttered above us, weaving light through the dusk.

Moral of the Story

True monsters are not the creatures in the woods or the sirens beneath the waves, but the fear inside us that turns kindness into cruelty. To defeat the monsters, we must face the shadows—without fear, but with understanding.