"Blub blub, bubbles rise. Whose eyeballs dance in the pot?
Add a finger, toss in some grass, peel off that pretty face...
Inside the dim hut, a half-man-high black iron pot sat over the hearth, filled with churning, thick brown liquid.
An old woman with shriveled green skin like tree bark hummed an unfamiliar tune.
Her claw-like fingers picked up a severed finger from somewhere and waved it before her eyes, then tossed it casually into the pot.
Gloop.
A plume of sweetly foul white smoke rose from the pot.
Aunt Jing Shui's humming stopped with it.
She picked up a large leg bone beside the pot and used it as a ladle, stirring vigorously.
"Pretty faces... It's been so long since I've had a new one...
She sighed. Her voice sounded like two rusty iron plates scraping together. "You think it's because no disgustingly human girl has come by in so long that I haven't had a new addition to my collection, hmm?"
A palm-sized toad with repulsive pustules covering its back puffed out its cheeks in a wall niche and gave a muffled croak, as if answering her question.
"Heh heh, it doesn't matter if no one comes."
Aunt Jing Shui grinned, revealing the few yellow teeth she had left. "That old toad is nearly dead, anyway. With the Heart of the Swamp, the whole swamp will be mine before long..."
"Croak... A stranger has set foot on the path..."
The toad in the wall niche suddenly spoke, its voice hoarse and cold, interrupting her muttering.
Her stirring hand paused.
"Someone's nearby?" Her cloudy eyes shifted. "Which unlucky soul got lost? Or is it a messenger sent by that fool Elton?"
"But I'm making dinner right now, and this stew is just right." She chuckled, making no move