The Witch

Once upon a time in a world next to ours, a man and woman gave birth to a baby girl, Seraon. The girl grew to be a kind and kindred spirit. But she was not happy. She wished to be wicked. 

An old witch lived in the groove next to the small town. She brewed her potions and whistled her spells. Each bringing to life a new curse. The girl watched the witch from the time she was young, wishing that instead, the witch was her mother. 

At the age of seventeen, when most girls her age look for commitment and strong support, she wanted nothing more than to cast curses. 

She drew courage to approach the witch on the winter solstice. The only day of the year that gives a special type of power to a witch. The power to give away limited amounts of magic. 

The witch graved and sneered at the girl’s request. However, she agreed on one condition. She leaves her home and works for the King and Queen. The old witched made Seraon promise to kill the royals before her 20th birthday. The witch cackled to herself, knowing that once the deed is done, she will be queen. She had wished it every passing day; she would be queen or die trying. The girl happily agreed. She didn’t care for the lives she promised to rid was that of royal blood. She was only ecstatic at the prospect of fulfilling her dream. 

The process of transferring magic was long and grueling. They needed special herds and rare roots to brew the concoction. Time was running short, once the clock struck twelve the mixture was drunk, and the spell was cast. The old incantation swirled around the young girl settling on her skin. One by one the symbols melted into her icy cold skin. Its warmth radiated with each that disappeared. The last lingered on her forearm, burning more than the others. With each passing second, the light sting grew to a grueling pain. A scream of agony left Seraon’s mouth. What felt like hours ended in five minutes. 

Sweat pooled on the girl’s face. Her body trembled at the lack of burning on her skin. She clutched her left arm to her chest, cradling it. The wicked old witch cackled at the sight. She peered down at her symbol remembering the day she received hers. Seraon remained clutching her arm. Her tear-streaked face, lifted with determination. 

The witch reminded the girl of her promise, giving her a book of incantations and spells before she departed. She made sure to pinpoint spells that would make the job easier. 

That same night Seraon packed up the little she had, leaving a note describing her want to help the King and Queen. Seraon said her silent farewells to her parents as she made her journey to the north. From her small village, it would take ten days on foot to reach the castle. 

Seraon never studied the surrounding lands. She has heard stories of those eaten by wild beasts or getting lost in the Oyrlin Forest. She told herself they where all tales to defer travelers from leaving the village. She knew that before she reached the castle, she needed to begin her training. She has the mark, but that only goes so far, and she was determined to keep her magic. Determined to move forward with the promise. 

Twelve days past before Seraon reached the city walls. It was longer than she wanted but those extra days pushed her farther than she ever has. The tales of the beasts were more than true. 

The first night a wild boar nearly trampled her. She kept her life by mere seconds. She studied the book the witch gave her during light hours, she remembered one spell that stood out to her. One that burns any object the caster wishes. 

The boar burst into flames at the last syllable. It shrieked scurrying off into the night. The light could be seen hundreds of feet away. Seraon watched it move amongst the trees before it halted all movement. The girl cautiously followed the flickering light as it faded into the night. As she reached the boar, only a charred corpse laid on the grass. She cast the ignition spell on a stick holding it over the animal. She knew would have to eat more than berries and bread to make it to the castle.

The remaining days brought about a new challenge that Seraon had to face. They propelled her farther into the world that she wanted. Spell after spell, her morals deteriorated, she no longer cared what she hurt or who. 

Around the sixth night, a band of bandits approached her, threatening to steal her belongings and sell her into slavery for a nice shiny coin. She didn’t budge when the man who was twice her size, grabbed her collar. She stared him straight in the eyes reciting the Frosted Winds as she reached out to him touching his arm. His deep yelp echoed through the snowy flat land. His hand dropped from her collar. He gripped his arm as it crumbled below him. The men watched the girl as she smiled sweetly at them. 

They yelled profanities as they swung weapons in her direction. Seraon whispered Silent Death through her teeth. One by one they halted, their sharp swords and heavy hammers never reached the target, they hit the ground with a thud. The men soon following suit. The girl spared no glace back as she stepped over their bodies. 

Reaching the city walls was magic for Seraon. In all her days, she never experienced such an overwhelming stimulus. The front gate stood open as guards checked each person entering the city. She caught the way they checked woman’s bodies. They searched forearms, ankles, and neck; they were searching for markings. Seraon hung back thinking of something that could get her past. 

She hid the marking with greawly powder and water. The two ingredients combined to coat her skin with fine skin like gel. She discovered the trick on accident on the fourth night of her journey here. She scrapped her legs on brier bushes when leaving the forest. 

She heard from her mother when she was a child that greawly powered forms within rocks over a thousand years and the powered, once rubbed into a wound, disinfects it. She figured mixing water into the powered would create a paste that would be easier to slide on the skin. What she got was almost a double layer of skin. 

Seraon was nervous. Being caught would mean her dreams would crumble below her. She had traveled all this way, for her to get turned away or worse, killed, dampened her spirits. 

The guard ordered her to open her cloak and roll up her sleeves. She hesitantly pulled her arms from the warm cloak. The guard forcefully tugged at her sleeves, pulling them up. Some paste scratched off with the force the guard administered. He inspected more closely at the section. He opened his mouth to comment but another commotion pulled him from getting a closer look. It appeared another witch was caught a guard also on duty. They pinned her to the ground, clasping, what looked to be materium, onto her wrists. 

Seraon read a few blurbs about the metal. It was man-made, it is specifically directed to cut off witches’ power. She never expected to see it so early in her journey. The woman fought with a fire in her eyes as they wrestle her to her feet, yet without magic, she was only a woman. A guard mentioned the trial she will be put to, the detail he spoke sent chills down her spine. The idea of being in such a position scared Seraon. Only when the guard let her through, did she breathe a sigh of relief.

Beyond the walls, houses and cobblestone streets adorned the city. A woman with a basket spoke to the merchant selling garments for a hefty price. They bickered the price back and forth before the man settled on a small discount. The interaction was foreign to her. Back in her small town, many settled on a price, no such thing happened like she was witnessing. 

The energy that flowed threw the streets ignited a fire in Seraon’s soul. With only having her magic for a short period, she recognized the immense power that flooded through the city. It would make getting into the castle easier. 

Months past, Seraon acquired her first job at the castle. Her power grew exponentially over those months. She considered herself a proficient level witch. Over the few months, she used people, stomped on those who sought to help her, and slithered her way into the castle. She grew sinister with each passing day. 

Slowly over the next two years, she grew in rank. By her 19th birthday, she handled the Queen’s quarters. The King had passed by her 18th year. She had poisoned him for a month before he contracted pneumonia. 

Seraon, even with her wicked tendencies, was beloved by the castle workers, they all spoke praises and showered her with compliments. The Queen noticed the work ethic of the girl, she had specifically chosen her to be a right hand when the King passed. The Queen trusted Seraon with everything priceless. 

On the eve of Seraon’s 20th birthday, the Queen fell from the castle tower. Those who saw her make her way to the top spoke of an odd aroma emitting from her skin. The Queen died that night, yet before her last breath, the Queen ordered a new ruler. She wished for Seraon to take the throne. She happily obliged.

A messenger relayed the dying wish to the kingdom. The people of the kingdom mourned the passing of there humble queen. Each unsure of their new ruler.

The wicked old witch from all those years ago arrived the following day. The young girl greeted her, telling of how the King and Queen are both dead. The old hag watched Seraon for years, she knew of the Queens dying request. She knew it was Seraon who put the words in her mouth. The witch demanded the power be put to her. When Seraon denied the request, she threatened to take Seraon’s powers. 

Seraon maliciously laughed at the woman. She knew her power was far greater than those of the old woman, but she had other plans. With swift movements shackles placed themselves on the woman's wrist. 

With the old witch's magic sealed, Seraon took her magic with ease. The witch gasped as her body grew lifeless. The years she had been alive greatly shown. The magic that kept her young melted from her body, with it gone, death knocked on her door. The old witch clutched her heart before collapsing to the floor.

The wicked witch used the old woman to gain power, used the servants to gain reputation, and finally used the Queen to put herself into power. 

The witch looked over the body of the old woman, “Be careful what you wish for.”