Once upon a time there lived a free spirited woman named Yve. She liked to twirl through the rain storms, make whistles out of the greenest blades of grass, and touch everything that caught her eye. Yve often sang at the top of her lungs as she walked down the street and had the best conversations with the brick wall inside the newspaper foyer. People didn’t quite know how to handle Yve as she was a bit strange, but she hardly noticed the odd looks or raised eyebrows. Yve was happy in her own small life of no significance to anyone, but herself.
One day Yve was walking through a part of town that was completely unfamiliar to her. She had stopped for a scoop of her favorite coconut ice cream, but as soon as she stepped out of the ice cream parlor the delicious ice cream began to melt pouring over the side of the cone and down her arms faster than she could stop it. She became so preoccupied with the sticky mess she didn’t pay attention to where she was going and managed to find a street that was entirely new to her.
The street was narrow and dark though the sun burned brightly overhead. Yve finished off the last of her ice cream cone as she came to the front of a little shop nearly hidden in the dense brick walls. If it were not for the sign stating the shop carried witch balls she would have missed it all together. Yve hoped they would have a restroom where she could wash her hands and she was terribly curious about what a witch ball was.
Moral of the story don’t touch someone else’s balls without permission.