She calls herself Ms. Wormwood and people think of religious parables and look no deeper. Too many have lost the ability to see symbols, else they would be blinded in a world teeming with them. She names herself for all the world to see, as witch and witch-kind, and almost none see past the young face she wears over her own or think her more than harmless.
When feeling cruel, she tells people she is a witch and watches them thing of nakedness and crystals and herbs. What she thinks of wicca is best left unsaid, for there is no word in any language to compass the depth of her contempt. Politics comes close, in election seasons.
She is ancient and aweful, as old as the woods she once claimed. She has destroyed lives with words and created tales to terrify children for generations and has walked from death back into life and mastered power even the bravest of magicians would never dare to bind. To her, the world yet holds one crime that sickens her: she is afraid.
Her fear slew her mentor and walks the world, a boy ever and always, with a knife and will that no witch can face down. His name is Jack, and her fear of him is so big that God herself would weep to see it . And as she is afraid, so Ms. Wormwood knows others are. She sets her plans in motion so that she need never fear again. She has whispered, long and hard, in the right ears, just like her namesake.
Can it be a namesake if it was named after you? No matter.