"What is it?"

Millie didn't bother to ask this year. Her curiosity had been well-sated by last year's turkey roasted in a monk fish and suspended in...the young witch still didn't want to think about what it was. She had seen some nogtail hooves in the bins one day, and it seemed like the oddest thing until the pie was set before her on the table. This one seemed no less putrid, but at least it had a crust.

"It's the tradition, that's what it is." A quick hand reached out to bat her father's curious fingers away. "And no checking if it'll bite back this year. I see that layer of dirt on those crusty fingers, Cecil, and it's not getting on my pie. You can't fool me so easily anymore."

"Fool you? I used to dazzle you!" Her father boasted loud, drawing a squawk of laughter from her mother. Millie tucked her chin away when his twinkling eyes glanced over to her, heat rising on her cheeks. Watching her parents flirt was as thrilling to the young teenager as the prospect of tasting the New Year's pie.

Maybe if she closed her eyes she wouldn't gag this year.

The knife sliced into the crust, drawing Millie's attention again despite her churning stomach. She had to admit, at least, the pie had almost smelled good as it baked. Of course, not even Mrs. Moore was around to sneak an extra cup of sugar into the concoction, now she always received New Year's off and Beth Potts barricade herself into the kitchen all day. Whatever was in that pie drew a sharp draw of breath from the young witch, she could have sworn the pie was bleeding as her mother cut into it!

"Don't cut it so big, mum!" Millie only opened her mouth when she saw how big her mother was cutting the pieces, her mouth drooping with alarm. Only the three of them sat around the table now, and she was missing the presence of her older brother. Fletcher reveled in the carnage of the new year's tradition, always willing to spark up the tale of how he had devoured the year's disgusting concoction whenever Millie was in earshot. "Fletcher'll want a piece, too."

"Then he should have been here instead of watching pretty girls at a ball." The knife continued, undeterred by the pleading sounds of the wielder's daughter.

"Papa, please!" Millie put on her youngest, most innocent face. Her forehead tipped down, and she looked up at her father through the fringes of her hair. She almost shook it, hoping to dislodge a lock to fall over her face, but thought that might make her goal too obvious. Cecil Potts might have a keener eye for plants than people, but even he would look askance at his daughter's blatant manipulations. It was harder to get away with being the youngest, too, when none of her siblings were there to point out that fact. "It'll taste like dirt!"

Her father just shrugged, setting his eyes on the piece set in front of him.

"As if that would convince a Potts," her mother clucked at her youngest daughter, setting a piece down in front of her. The red filling didn't look so awful now, almost...fruity? Millie kept her hands in her lap until a nudge at her arm prompted her to look. Her father had his fork poised to take a bite, he just wasn't going to go it alone. Accosted on both sides, the young witch issued a heavy sigh and picked up her fork.

She nearly gagged! The pie tasted strongly of a vinegar brine, melded with a sickly, sweet taste that twisted her insides. Her stomach protested but it was all Millie could do to swallow, following it with a gulp of milk as quickly as she could. She could feel the chunks of the pie slowly making their way down to her stomach, clutching her belly in sympathy.

"Happy New Year," she muttered, pushing back her plate before getting up. The young witch turned away, spying her father well into his second bite, and actually enjoying it! Her mother barely nodded to her before brimming eagerly, opening her mouth to happily spill the details of the pie's gruesome makings. Millie retreated from the room as fast as she could, but not without catching some of the finer details her ears wouldn't let her ignore.

"...always wanted to try fermenting in a Witch's Ganglion, so that batch of gooseberries seemed like a natural fit! Too tart to be eaten otherwise, so a bit of wasp honey in the brine..."

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