But Missiya herself was one of the world’s lucky ones. She didn’t care what anyone said. She didn’t care what happened to anyone. She cared only about one person in the whole world and that was herself. Perhaps, in a way, that did make her a witch. At least she was not quite human
That thoughtless confidence of hers couldn’t last, however. Almost ten years later, she came to live in a dark little hut that stood just beyond the end of our garden. By then she had begun to lose the freshness of her young beauty and her carefree ways. At twenty-five she was an adult women, a good-looking women, and an inviting one. She lived alone because her parents had died, but nothing else had changed with her. The village still hated her and loved her. The men still to her by night. During the worked,making baskets.Day or night,she appeared not to care how the next meal came to her,what happened to her,or what she would do when she grew old.