Every day, she would look in her mirror and sigh, “How beautiful am I!”
One day, instead of her usual habit of self-congratulation, she shrieked, “Who is that bloody old crone!”
Consequently, her medical attendants hastily summoned Herr Docteur to diagnose her ailment.
“Look, you scoundrels! What’s causing these wrinkles, bumps on my nose, receding hairline? All those confounded creams are not working!”
Her medical staff and household staff conferred about what is to be done. Until the parlor maid had the idea of foggy glasses.
Next morning Mrs. Witch looked at her image with her foggy glasses and smiled. Finally, thinking, “Gotta give those guys a raise!”
All this time, the wizard was in his lab concocting potions and gassy liquids sizzling and bubbling in his cauldron. His cosmetic line was sold to fine gentry country wide, lining the pockets of his gown with enormous sums.
Word of Mrs. Witch’s skin and hair deformities were not revealed to him by the servants. But his internet prowess and the bugs he had set about the castle allowed him to discover all the details.
“Foggy glasses! This is extra-ordinaire! It can’t be! It’s a tragedy! My purely natural palliative potions are excellente!!”
“So what can be the problem?” chirped his junior assistant, studying wizardry at the Sorbonne, 1st year.
“There is a traitor and I will get to ze bottom of this!” as he hunched over the computer, rapidly clicking codes and other secretive formulas.
Junior Dave gazed out at the night sky which appeared hazy through the fogged up windows.
“Eureka, I found ze bug!”
But then the building shook. The mountain seemed to rock back and forth. A window pane cracked.
Mrs. Witch entered the lab.
“Wizzy, I need to talk to you, NOW!
Wizard at the computer, didn’t hear her.
“Wizzy, now! Turn that thing off!” and she touched his shoulder with her long finger nail, ever so gently, yet nevertheless piercing the folds of his garment causing blood to ooze out from his upper arm.
Now he became aware of her presence. Waving his wand at his shoulder to dress the wound, he answered soothingly, “Ah, my dear, what brings you here this time of night?”
“This” as she pointed at her face.
“Ah, my lovely… “as his voice trailed off when he turned around finally, screwing his face in a gesture of wonder and repugnance.