“The Wool Witch of Mersey”
A riverside fairytale about forgotten magic, lost Crochelves, and yarn-born wonder
Not far from the murky waters of the River Mersey, where old barges creak and the mist hangs low like a secret, there stands a tiny cottage with windows shaped like buttons and a chimney that smells faintly of lavender and wool.
Most people walk past it without even seeing it.
Only the kind-hearted, the broken-hearted, or those with yarn tangled in their fingers seem to notice.
That is because it belongs to her:
The Wool Witch of Mersey.
She is not a witch of fire and thunder — no, she is a quiet witch. A maker of soft magic. Her spells are stitched, not shouted. She doesn’t fly on broomsticks — she rides narrowboats filled with baskets of sleeping Crochelves, stitched foxes, and wool-frogs with button eyes.
They say she was once just an old woman who crocheted to calm her trembling hands… but one day, her love, pain, and dreams entered her yarn. And since then, her creations have come alive — gently, secretly, and only at night.
🐸 The Day the Crochelf Was Lost
One rainy evening in early July, a little Crochelf Girl named Petal-Patch was dropped from a festival table in Ellesmere Port. A gust of wind had knocked her from her basket, and no one noticed — not even the humans. She tumbled between the cobblestones, soaked and frightened, too small to call for help.
She curled up under a dock beam, trying not to cry. Her golden thread-heart flickered with sadness.
Would her maker come for her?
Would she be left… forgotten?
But the river whispered her name. And the mist — oh, the mist heard.
🧙♀️ The Arrival of the Wool Witch
Just before midnight, the waters of the Mersey rippled strangely. A narrowboat slid silently across the surface, its lanterns glowing with soft pink light, its sails made of patchwork cloth.
At the helm stood a woman with wild silver hair tucked under a crocheted hat. Her cloak was made from hundreds of granny squares, stitched with runes only Crochelves can read. In her hand — a glowing crochet hook, carved from driftwood and bone.
She was the Wool Witch of Mersey, and she had heard the call.
She stepped ashore without a sound and whispered to the moss:
“Where is my little one?”
The moss replied. The rain eased. Even the shadows seemed to step aside.
She found Petal-Patch curled like a raindrop, her yarn damp but her golden thread still beating.
The Wool Witch gently scooped her up.
“Shhh, you’ve not been forgotten,” she whispered. “You were simply waiting… to be found.”
She dried her with a silken towel and restitched her left foot where the thread had unraveled. Then she wrapped her in a shawl of moonlight yarn and placed her in a teacup bed aboard the boat.
🌟 The Festival Blessing
The next day, a sleepy artist woman at the festival — tired, worried, unsure if anyone would buy her handmade creatures — found something strange.
All her Crochelves were sitting in perfect poses. Her yarn frogs were smiling wider than before. The table seemed to glow.
And there — right in the center — sat Petal-Patch. Restitched. Refreshed. Smelling faintly of mint and lilac. A tiny note lay next to her:
“She wandered, but was never lost.
She belongs to the world, and to your heart.”
— W.W. of Mersey”
From that day on, every time the artist doubted her work, a soft breeze would tug at her shawl.
And a tiny whisper would echo from the threads:
“You make magic. Never stop.”
💫 And so…
The Wool Witch of Mersey continues her silent travels — by mist, by moon, by memory. She listens for lost Crochelves, tangled hearts, and makers in despair.
And if you ever feel like no one sees the magic you make…
Look to the river.
Listen to the moss.
And check your basket — for the Wool Witch of Mersey never forgets her creations.
She simply waits for the moment the world is ready for them.
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The Pond of Whispering Wishes 🌿
In a quiet corner of the Mersey tunnels, where roots of ancient trees brush against stone and the sound of water echoes gently, lives a secret family of Crochelves frogs who guard the magical Pond of Whispering Wishes. These are no ordinary frogs — they are soft, green-hearted dreamkeepers stitched from love and mossy magic.
🩷 Petalina – the tallest and oldest of the group – wears a flowery pink dress that blooms with the memories of spring mornings. She is the Guardian of Blossoms and the keeper of the First Wish. When a flower falls into the pond, Petalina can hear its whisper and gently tells it where to float — toward a dreamer in need.
🌼 Lembley – with a daisy sunburst on his belly and a wise tilt to his smile – is the Frog of Echoes. He can catch lost thoughts in the wind and turn them into warm wishes. Lembley is a deep thinker who loves sitting by the water counting ripples and stars.
🌸 Tibbit – with a cheeky grin and a shy heart – has a soft pink bloom stitched into his chest. He’s the most playful of the group and Keeper of Laughter. His giggles bounce through the reeds and heal the sadness of any creature who listens. Tibbit believes every wish should be sprinkled with joy.
😊 Moochik – the smallest, with a brown ribbon and a golden smiley button – is a very young Crochelf, still learning his magic. But even so, he carries the Tiny Light, which only glows when someone is truly kind. Moochik may be little, but his heart is the biggest of all.
Together, they guard the Pond of Whispering Wishes. Every evening at twilight, the frogs sit by the edge, legs dangling, eyes bright. They listen to the breeze, to the water, to the hearts of those above who wish quietly into the sky.
And when no one is watching — just when the stars begin to peek — the Crochelves frogs hum a tune that sounds like hope.
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