I’ve never done this before.

Then again, I’ve never done a lot of things in life.

Always the timid little tea witch whose only power was to brew a soothing cuppa and lend a good ear to anyone’s woes and troubles.

I’ve been so busy helping others and so busy being afraid to love that I’ve lost the chance to live. To experience the world to its fullest.

Which is how I’ve found myself in this…predicament.

Sixty years old and alone with no one to share this life with. However much I have left.

Maybe…

Maybe this potion is my answer.

A Spell for Loneliness, it calls itself.

It simply appeared on my doorstep one day as if by magic—probably by magic—and I’ve been eyeing the piece of paper ever since. Holding it. Turning it over in my hands. Reading and re-reading. And wondering what if.

What if it was real?

What if it could help me?

What if it truly was the answer to my prayers?

It took me a while to gather up the courage to do it. Even longer to gather the ingredients.

But here they are now, right in front of me now.

It’s time.

It’s time to brew a man.

I put the piece of paper down on my kitchen table and reached for the first ingredient.

Silk, so his skin is silky smooth.

I lay the fabric all across the table before I moved on to the next ingredient.

Cotton, so he’s soft.

I scatter the cotton in copious amounts all across the length of the table, over the silk.

Two pink garnets, so his eyes glimmer with love and adoration.

I rest them both on one end of the table and grab the jar of rose petals.

So his lips are utterly kissable.

I scatter them on the same end as the garnet.

Syrinx of a nightingale, so his voice is like a song.

I place it where the neck should be and take a deep breath, bracing myself for the next part.

I walk over to the kitchen counter and hold the wolf’s heart with both hands.

So he’s courageous and primal.

It goes on the left side, where the chest should be. As soon as I rest it on the cotton, it paints it red.

I swallow the knot in my throat and move on to the bones and place them around the heart as a ribcage.

Bear bones so he’s strong.

And for the final body part, I pick up my companion and trusted friend for the longest of times. The sculpted penis that has served my needs for far longer than I care to admit.

A clay penis, so his carnal skills are incomparable.

It goes right where his groin should go and I pray for the hundredth time this will work or I’ll have lost my most valued possession.

With that done, I turn to the instructions and confirm this is the part where I improvise.

My favorite part and the one that has made me stay up nights on end trying to figure out.

But I’m certain I want him sweet and spicy.

I sprinkle generous amounts of sugar and cinnamon all over him. Then I grab the parchment and ink and rest it in his stomach.

So he’s intellectual and smart like me.

A ram’s horns, so he’s virile and protective.

Last, but not least, leaves of Earl Gray, so he appreciates a good cuppa.

With that done, I reach for the ceremonial knife and slice across my palm.

Blood, so we’re one.

I feel a wave, a warmth around my fingers that must be from the open wound and loss of blood but it feels palpable. As if it’s magical.

I squeeze my fist to stop the bleeding but I don’t wait for long. I’m so close now. I’m getting impatient.

I start folding the silk around all the ingredients and use the rope to hold everything together into a rough approximation of a male body.

Rope, so he’s mine.

It takes me far longer than I had hoped to get him all ready but when I’m done I’m proud of myself. It looks very good, if I say so myself.

But it’s still not real.

Time for the last ingredient.

I walk up to the head of the table where his head should be, inhale then lean over and blow.

My breath, so he comes to life.

I don’t stop until I run out of air in my lungs and just when I’m ready to have another go, the silk shifts. It pulsates. It morphs.

Right in front of my very eyes the cotton mannequin turns into skin, blood and bone.

I’m so astonished at what I’m seeing I can barely breathe. I’ve seen magic in my life but never anything like this.

Fingers start twitching. Legs start moving. The head starts turning and when he sits up I feel as if my heart has stopped.

He searches around him and I bite my lip. I don’t know if I should be afraid or amazed, but either way I step into his field of vision and look him in the eyes.

They’re a bright shade of purple that almost seem to shine. His lips are pale and plump. His hair is short and falls over his forehead in blond almost silvery strands. But that’s not even the most impressive part of him.

It’s the horns on either side of his head that curl around themselves that have me speechless.

Those and the ink all over his body.

I take him all in. There’s not an inch of him that isn’t covered in tattoos, large and small in all kinds of designs. Some I recognize from the book where the parchment page had come from. Others I don’t but I suddenly have the urge to explore it all. To study him.

He smiles and pushes his legs off the table, swinging them in the air as if he’s innocent when he looks anything but.

“My love,” he says. “Thank you for creating me. How can I please you today?”

I gulp.

Please?

It’s then I notice the thing between his legs.

It’s bigger than my clay shaft. It’s thicker than my clay shaft. And it’s more alive than my clay shaft.

Fuck!

I’ve brewed a monster.

A monster that wants me and only me.

I get hard at the mere thought.

What’s a man to do but offer the monster his hand and tell him: “how about we start in the bedroom?”