Short Story: The Cost

There are places in the world forgotten in our age which still hold some magic, and one of these is a well. At times it has been covered up with stones and mounds of earth; At times it has been advertised and all have come to taste what may be drawn from out of its darkness.

It is, some say, a wishing well. Some hope their wish will be granted if they drink from it. Others merely cite that it will bless you to drink.

The water—if it is water—has a bitter taste, a flavor which has lasted me a thousand years or more now.

Nowadays, it is neither covered up nor advertised, for no one very much believes in magic anymore. I cannot say why I, out of so many, have been so blessed. I knew a man who after drinking from this well gained great wealth. There was a woman who married a king. And there is me, left always tasting this bitter taste. Come to think of it, she never had children, and the wealthy man, I saw him again, was wrecked by his riches.

There is always some bitterness in the blessings of this well, some cost. Such is the nature of magic. To everything, there is a cost.