Long ago and far away in the rolling hills of Sicily, an old woman with long, black hair resided in a vast orchard that spanned miles. The towns surrounding the orchard knew what was supposed to grow on the trees, but they never saw it with their own eyes. The trees should have been blooming with buds of citrus fruits. The vivid hues of oranges and lemons should have lit up the orchard like stars in the indigo night sky. The townspeople should have been living abundantly off the profits from the fruit that grew in the orchard, but there was one problem. The Citrus Witch, as she was called, controlled the weather of the land upon which she lived with her emotions. She lived alone in a small cottage deep inside the orchard, where no soul dared to wander. When the Citrus Witch was angry, the sun over the orchard disappeared. When she yelled, thunder clapped over the land. And when she smiled, once in a blue moon, a sliver of sun shone upon the trees.
The seasons in Sicily were
barely noticeable this long ago, long before the suffocating hand of global
warming even threatened the earth. At this time, all of Sicily only knew one
season: summer. The townspeople were accustomed to the sweltering heat of the
summer sun. Their skin had never been exposed to so much as a chill since the
town was settled. The heat was so oppressive that it induced strokes, sparked
wildfires, and dehydrated the elders of the town. It was an eternal inferno,
not far off from the depths of the underworld that they feared so fiercely.
Luckily, the heat brought sheets of rain along with it, and this combination
was all the citrus trees needed in order to thrive. Everything changed once the
Citrus Witch was banished from the town and forced to live a life of solitude
among the tombs of the barren trees.
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