Poison

Poisons were a fasination of hers. They were beautiful in a way. The pain they could cause. Or numbness. The creeping dread a victim felt as their blood was torn to pieces by the toxin. The realization that they could no longer move their limbs according to their will. You could see it in their eyes. It was lovely. Satisfying.
The Hag had taught her many potions and cures, far more than there were in the mortal realm. Betony Rue had forgotten most. In a way she was glad. But her memories of those liquids of subtle death had remained more clearly in her mind than most. And despite the horrors and rage she had felt in her time in that small cottage in the woods, Betony Rue could almost savor the thoughts she still had of faerie posions and the cruel effects they had. She would see in her mind as the burning vemon moved through a wretched changeling's body, wracking it with pain they could not express as it took the air from the lungs. She would watch them gasp silently, eyes wide in terror and shock. She had watched. She had poisoned them simply to see it work on the body. And not always at the Hag's instruction. She had done it on her own too, with many different types of toxins. Each was beautiful in its own way. And Betony Rue would think then, I had enjoyed that. I still enjoy it.
And that frightened her.