Context: I came across a prompt about a witch turning someone into a bird or something and wrote this on a whim... My apologies if it sounds odd.... 

Characters: Irene as a witch, Wendy as Oriole

An elderly woman had left the cottage in tears as she muttered curses under her breath.

“Tell me, Oriole, why do you gaze at me with eyes as sorrowful as the mother who had just sent her last son out to war? It was not as though I did not wish to help the mother with a charm that defies death. But you already know, many more will die if her son lives.”

Oriole concurred resignedly with a chirp.

Irene sighed as she held out a berry to her Golden Oriole. Exactly how she had begotten this bird, Irene could not quite remember. All Irene knew was that this companion of hers has been with her for a very long time. Yet, all these years, she had not even given the Oriole a name. No matter, Oriole had been with her for so long and had become a creature whom she was most acquainted with. Oriole was the kindest to her, tolerant of her volatile tempers and never leaving her side even though Irene had nothing much to offer her. Yes, Irene, once a reputable witch had retreated to life in the woodlands after a nasty episode of potions-making and resulting in her partial amnesia. The witch had forgotten a great deal of things, including how this Golden Oriole came to be in her possession. She had found the pitiful bird in a gilded cage and offered it freedom. Yet, the bird returned a few days later and stayed with her since then.

The berry in Irene’s hand quickly disappeared with a few darting pecks from Oriole. With gratefulness, Oriole chirped melodiously. It brought a smile to Irene’s lips. She Oriole’s smooth head with a finger and met its eyes once again.

“Oriole, why do I always feel that you have some ask of me? Tell me, was I really wrong to deny that mother of her request?” Irene asked with a smile and popped a berry into her own mouth.

Oriole chirped again and hopped onto Irene’s shoulders, holding a lock of her hair in its beak. Irene gave a short giggle.

“Time for a bath, I know. Come Oriole,” Irene said gently as she cupped her hand to take Oriole in it.

As Oriole watched Irene bathe, as she had for the past century, Oriole had thoughts. Oriole thought that Irene had changed in many ways over the years. By the way, have we failed to mention that Oriole was not always a bird? Oriole was once a little girl and had a name, her name was Wendy. Wendy had first met Irene when they had been children. Irene had been comp