The Witch Notes

Story 1

It is a story about a witch

I’d like to say this story is about the kind of witch you read about in motivational books or see on some talk show about famous witches. But unfortunately, this story is about me—just an ordinary witch with no particular talents.

My mother never believed I’d amount to much as a witch. Whenever I brought home a good grade, she’d ask, “Why not better?” And if the grade was less than perfect, she’d sigh, “Well, Mary from your class never gets marks like these!” So, unsurprisingly, I developed a “good girl” complex. No achievement ever felt good enough, and no matter how hard I tried to surpass myself, the result always disappointed me. I think many of you understand this feeling. I won’t even mention the imposter syndrome, constant anxiety, and my tendency to overthink everything.

Even though I never officially graduated from the Academy of Traditional Witches, I’ve managed to carve out a decent life. My mother, of course, would disagree.

Growing up, I was convinced I’d follow the family path: graduate from the Academy, pursue postgraduate studies, teach there (like my grandfather did), settle down, have children, and join the centuries-old coven of respectable witches. As you may have guessed, I completely derailed this plan when I dropped out in my second year. Well, technically, I didn’t drop out—I just decided not to go back. When I suggested taking an academic leave, my mother responded with a smack on the head. So, I chose the hard way: I stopped attending lectures and seminars, hoping they'd kick me out. Spoiler: they didn’t. My grandfather pulled some strings, and my profile remained in the Academy Register for five years, waiting for my “return,” keeping me magically bound to them. My mother was, of course, furious. After a colossal family row, she threw me out. A week later, she changed her mind, but by then, I’d dug in my heels and told her I wasn’t coming back. My girlfriend offered me a place to stay, and her boyfriend didn’t mind (don’t ask, it was complicated). Her family practised mixed magic—Grey and Sex magic. Naturally, every traditional family warns their children against such company, but the more forbidden, the sweeter the pull, right?

At that point, my magic wasn’t strong enough to make a living, so I took on mortal jobs, blending into their world and hiding my witch’s mark under an array of tattoos, which I got from mortal artists. I’ve always admired their ingenuity in finding ways to modify their bodies without magic.

My girlfriend, Netty, didn’t limit her circle to magical beings either. Her boyfriend, Seth, was a specialist in Plant Magic, which attracted mortal friends interested in, well, let’s say, new experiences. So, their house saw quite a range of visitors—from mortals to Ceremonial witches to satyrs, who often dropped by to see her mother.

One night, I met Kevin, a mortal pizza delivery guy, and fell hopelessly in love with him. Of course, it ended badly for me, though he was just fine—unfortunately, still alive (I joke). Later, my friend, a Cosmic Witch, explained that he had the Sun in the eighth sign or something, which she claimed meant our relationship was doomed from the start. Apparently, I always had difficult, painful relationships with people like him. Take my father, for instance—same eighth sign story.

Life among mortals took me on various adventures. My relationship with Netty ended once I fell for Kevin, who was also Seth’s best friend. Seth and Netty didn’t last either; a ten-year age difference made things complicated for them. Eventually, our little group broke apart.

Things with Kevin ended like this: one day, he came home from work upset. I’d promised myself never to use magic on him, never to read his emotions or pry into his mind, so I asked him honestly what was wrong. He hesitated for a while, then admitted that his mother had visited a Seer who’d told her Kevin and I weren’t meant to be and had no future together. I was beyond shocked. Seers are rare in the magical world, and meeting one among mortals is practically impossible—they tend to stay far from the mortal realm. Naturally, I became obsessed with the idea of meeting this Seer; maybe she could reveal my destiny. Kevin didn’t know I was a witch, and I intended to keep it that way. Mortals had mixed reactions to us; some bombarded us with questions, others sought profit, and a few might even try to harm us. So, I kept my secret hidden. Netty and Seth had the same philosophy of staying in the shadows.

We managed to set up a meeting with the Seer reasonably quickly, which made me suspicious. Back in the magical world, you could wait decades, if not centuries, to meet a Seer. When we arrived, my suspicions only grew. We were in an old, run-down part of town; the place reeked of cat urine, and broken glass crunched underfoot. The Seer turned out to be a woman in her fifties who saw clients “at home.” I knew she was mortal by her floral dressing gown. I knew for sure that genuine Seers have a taste for grandeur. She started our meeting by asking, “How’s your mother’s neck?”—which startled me since my mother did have neck trouble from reading old scrolls. But let’s be honest—who doesn’t have neck pain these days?

After a few vague “facts” about my family, I asked the question that had brought me here: my fate with Kevin. Like any love-struck girl (even one from another world), I wanted to believe in genuine love and a happy ending. The Seer, already primed on the topic, confirmed my worst fears—we weren’t meant to be. But seeing my disappointed face, she quickly reassured me that Kevin and I would remain close friends for life. She even foretold a future love—a blue-eyed blond I’d meet soon, with whom I’d have two children and a dog.

Well, she was right about one thing—Kevin and I didn’t work out as a couple. We couldn’t stay friends, and I’ve always hated blue-eyed blonds.

The argument with Kevin was explosive. I couldn’t believe he’d let some charlatan’s words dictate the fate of our relationship. In the heat of the moment, I used my magic on him for the first time, something I instantly regretted. I glimpsed scenes from his life, including how he betrayed me with two other women he worked with, his mocking conversations about our “relationship,” and his mother’s intense dislike for me. In a flash, everything made sense—to me, not to him. My sudden intrusion left Kevin with a splitting headache and a temporary loss of reality. I won’t say I felt sorry for him. But I’m sure he was both shocked and relieved to find me gone, along with all my things, by the time he regained his senses.

Heartbroken, I moved in with a friend temporarily. Returning to my mother’s was, of course, out of the question. I burned nearly everything that reminded me of Kevin until green smoke billowed from the bin, and I had to douse it with puddle water, forgetting the simplest spell in my panic. Thankfully, no mortals were around to see. Later, I spent a long time examining myself in the mirror, dreading any signs of black magic on my face. I knew they were just stories told to scare children away from dark magic, but I wasn’t sure if random curses had their own rules. I'm still curious which of those random curses ended up falling on Kevin's head. It still brings a smile to my face. Seeing no warts on my youthful face, I finally calmed down and went to sleep. The following day, I decided to move to the other side of the country.

I’d given up on finding housing among covens and turned to mortal social media. To my surprise, I found a quick option. A girl with an eccentric look was searching for a roommate in the very city I had in mind.

Packing all my belongings into a few small bags, I used one of the last portal spells from my Academy days. It was my final portal, and getting a new one would be almost impossible in my circumstances. You’d need either strong magic (which I didn’t have) or a lot of money (which I also lack). But it was easier than travelling by mortal means.

Ella, my new roommate, greeted me at 4 a.m. on the doorstep of our shared apartment. I apologised profusely for the early visit, having forgotten about the time difference. Ella merely shrugged, saying she had never slept before six anyway. I awkwardly smiled and dragged my bag down the dim, narrow hallway. As she turned toward the kitchen (at least, I thought it was the kitchen), I noticed a mark on her neck—Ella was a witch, too! “You’re a witch!” I blurted, pointing at her. She froze and slowly turned, wide-eyed. Realising how absurd I looked, I quickly lowered my hand and lifted my hair to show her my own mark. Ella visibly relaxed, waving me along.

While she brewed tea, I learned nearly everything about her. She was a Home Witch, like everyone in her family. Though her family preferred a coven life, Ella chose to live apart and study mortal arts at a regular university. At night, she attended lectures at the Academy, balancing her magical and mortal education. I immediately liked her and knew this would be more than just a roommate arrangement.

And that’s where I would like to begin my story.