You who are young and not so plump,
inedible really, like that boy, Hansel,
who was so insolent—
how could you not want to cage him
and taunt him with the daily measurement?
The chicken bone trick fooled no one.
But you, the girl, showed promise:
working away, resentful,
bearing your secret grudge,
using your wiles. Yes, the wiles make a witch.
We do not want the dumb ones.
You must count and remember and
and never forget the good or the bad. 
You must keep it
stored in a jar in a dark, quiet place,
like your mind or the cabinet of
memory.
Shun us at your peril.
We will turn you into one of us.
This is no spell.
It’s a promise.
Yes, this is a promise.