A Cure for Writer's Block™

I always knew this day would come. My mother told me about it, and my siblings talked about it a lot. And they had disappeared, one by one, just as we all knew would happen. I don't think it made it any easier when the day finally did come. In fact, I'm sure it didn't. I'm sure it would have been better if I had never known about this, about this terrible destiny we all shared. The terror just built up. And the worst part was the waiting. Endless waiting. None of us ever knew when it would finally happen....

The man stared at the flower bed. Scarlet petals bursting forth from the centre; it truly was a sight to behold. Gently he knelt, examined the soil, and with the grace of an albatross in flight, he plucked a petal from the rose. His chest swelled with pride. He had done it. He would finally save his wife.

But a vague thought stroked the back of his mind... this was his chance. The human dream. He could achieve it.

Pale as a ghost in the summertime, a woman sat in the garden. She admired the roses. It would be her...

"You're supposed to be melting", he whined. He pawed in his pocked for more water, tossed a palmful at her face.

She shook it off, spat it back at him. "Melt? From a bit of water... you're an idiot."

"It's been told for centuries," he wailed. "Water for a witch a puddle makes."

"I've literally never heard that. And I've read a lot of lore. What kind of priest are you?"

It's a long story, he whispered as he looked towards the altar. He pushed off with both legs, tucked, flipped back over the fulcrum of her arms on his...

"When you're lost in the woods, stop moving."

So this is what it had come to. She was about six hours too late for that, arrogance and panic combining to create a deadly cocktail that had grasped her from within, and recklessly put one foot in front of the other until she was alone, stranded, confused, and hopelessly lost.
She'd read books about this. Seen horror stories on the news. And yet, they hadn't prepared her for her own hike, her own little detour off the gravel path just for a moment to capture the beauty of an errant mushroom...

That the church had kept her from the throne was of no matter; she had been born for this, had been promised this by birthright, by the divine right of kings imbued in her very flesh and blood.
Brandishing the sword above her, she swung and missed by a hair as the bishop leapt to the left. He slipped a hand into a hidden pocket, throwing water on her.
"Be gone, witch!" he cried. "There is nothing here for you, nothing that belongs to you. You have been banished by the people."
She seized him by the lapels. "The will...