Dancing with Ghosts and Memories

It’s a dark night, but not stormy. The stars are clear in the sky, framing the full moon. It’s a beautiful night. The perfect time to dance with ghosts. 

Her dress falls around her knees. The black fabric fits her body like a glove. She loves that dress. It makes her look pretty, she loves looking beautiful. 

But she loves looking dangerous even more. A knife holds her hair up, its gilded handle stuck in the middle of her head. The dagger is just for show, her real weapon is hidden in the rings on her hands. A single black ring on her right middle finger and a white band on her left each etched with a scythe, the symbol of a death witch. 

At the moment, black fingerless gloves covered the rings. She had of course considered trying to fit them over the fabric but decided the risk of them falling off wasn’t worth it. 

Steel-tipped combat boots stand in the dirt. Despite how frequently she gets them dirty there isn’t a speck on them tonight. 

In her hands, she holds a deck of cards. They were beautiful once, almost as pretty as her, but now they are faded from wear. The edges of each card are frayed and yellow. The frail paper is bent and torn but still undeniably a gorgeous deck of cards. The design on the back is hardly there anymore after years of weather and wear. 

She twirls a card between her fingers. It took her longer than she’d ever admit to learn that trick. Her brother could do it so effortlessly but she had struggled to copy him. 

He had always had a talent for cards.

She did not. 

Regardless, tonight her talent is better than his. 

She sets the cards on the ground. From her pocket, she removes a tiny vial. Inside is a liquid of pure silver. She could do the ritual without it, but it would likely kill her, and she has so many more people to screw over before she goes. It took her months to obtain it, and half of her life savings. Still, it was worth it, if tonight she finally got what she truly wanted.

Closure.

She lets a single drop of the liquid onto the cards, letting the silver seep into the fragile cards. Then she buries her hand in the earth, she feels every soul within a ten-mile radius, but she is only here for one.

With a single brush of her finger, a soul escapes the cards. 

Her brother. 

He looks exactly as he did in life. His long slender fingers were perfect for shuffling cards. A smile like no other, the one that always made you want to trust him. Even if he was the type of person you should ever trust. He had the golden hair of her childhood. His skin was clean and perfect, unlike her scar-ridden body. 

“I’ve been wondering when you would come calling,” He drawls, leaning down to run his fingers through her hair. It’s shorter than when they had last met. She had chopped it off three months ago. She isn’t sure if she regrets it. She misses when it was long enough to trail on the ground, but this style is easier. She doesn’t have time for her hair anymore.

“Brother,” She remarks. Her eyes do not meet his. She remains crouched on the ground, one hand on the cards and another on the dirt. 

“My cards?” He leans down, studying his favorite object. He reaches out for them, but her head darts up, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“If you touch the cards your soul will be destroyed,” She murmurs, almost as if it’s a challenge. He smirks but pulls his hand back. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you little bird?”

“Do not call me that,” She says, anger seeping into her voice. Her eyes finally meet his. “I am not your little bird, brother,”

“No, you’ve left the nest now haven’t you,” He drawls, touching her chin, “You’ve really come into your powers haven’t you?” She presses her mouth into a thin line. To slap his hand away would end the spell. “You know I remember…” He announces the words. He always did, especially when they were words that ignited his magic. 

“Brother,” She warns. Yellow light dances around him. Even dead he’s a powerful witch. The waves of power envelop them, bringing them back to a simpler time. 

When she opens her eyes, she recognizes the scene immediately. Her brother’s big day. His thirteenth birthday, when he got his famed cards. 

“Weren’t we adorable?” Her brother teases, draping a ghostly arm around her. She shrugs it off, now able to move her hands freely. This is all an allusion. Her body is still anchored to the ground, unmoving. She steps away from her brother. 

“What are you doing brother?” She demands, “This is not what I summoned you,” 

“You forget our past sister,” He says gesturing to the scene in front of them, “Perhaps we have grown apart, but look at us, do you dare deny our joy?” 

She doesn’t. The two children in front of her are happy. The boy grips his sister’s hand as he walks toward the party. She wears a dress, not unlike the one she wears now. It’s the same design but is shaded in yellow, the same color as her brother’s magic. He wears a suit the color of her magic, midnight black. It hadn’t been planned, in fact, they had no idea of their power back then. 

People fawn over them, they were cute kids, no one would deny that. Her hair had not yet turned black from magic overuse and was instead a cheery blonde. His smile was innocent and sweet. Together they made a pair everyone loved, especially today. 

The crowd parted as he stepped towards the giant pile of presents. One by one he unwraps his gifts, his sister standing by watching carefully. She is three years away from her thirteenth birthday when her magic will inevitably appear if she has it. 

The last gift is the smallest. A tiny wrapped package. He unwraps it with delight. His breath catches upon seeing the cards. They were brand new, not faded like the ones in the current time. Gold specks covered the gorgeous illustrations. 

As soon as his finger grazes the first card, he starts to glow with magic. His hands turn yellow, memory magic covering his tiny body. He glimpses the future that day. 

For three years he keeps her secret. He knew she had death magic since he knew about his own power. Her brother never looked at her the same after that day. 

Her breath catches as the scene in front of them fades to black. “Why did you show me this?” She whispers. 

“Because we were happy once sister. We could be again,” She shakes her head. 

“I am a death witch,” She murmurs, “My kind are never happy, but we serve a greater god, one you will never understand,” 

“Death is not a god,”

“It is more of a god than whatever fools the magicless worship,” She hisses. “Now stop this nonsense, I summoned you for a reason,”

“You summoned me for a reason,” Her brother states. This is true. She has been planning for this since he died, to ask her undying question “And I will hear you out, but indulge me a little longer,” He flicks his fingers, “I remember…” He starts, enacting another memory. 

She starts to shake when she sees the new scene in front of us. Her own magic pools between her fingertips, ready to tear the entire memory away. “How dare you,” She hisses. She turns to face her brother, “Do not make me relive this, I already dream of this day, do not let me see it awake,”

“No, sister, this is important,” 

It’s her thirteenth birthday. It isn’t anything like the last party they attended. Her brother no longer holds her hand, in fact, he seems afraid to touch her anymore. He saw something on his thirteenth birthday, but no matter the tactic she used, he refused to tell. He was afraid of her now. She could see it in his eyes every time she raised his voice, and in the way, he recoiled when they brushed skin. 

Tonight she did not wear yellow. Her brother didn’t either, he wore the navy blue color of their father’s magic. She wore a dress of flowers, all alive and blooming. Her mother had nearly killed for the dress. 

Over the past three years, their family had become famous with power, boasting one of the most powerful young witches of the age. Of course, their parent's power was unrivaled in the kingdom, they were both right hands to the king.

That’s why she was dressed in flowers. Everyone needed this night to be a success. If she did not have magic or had weak magic, everyone would see the family as a failure. 

Her power came at the stroke of midnight. Unlike her brother she did not have a token, an object to channel her power. 

At the last stroke of the clock a flower shriveled on her dress, then another, and another. Soon she was covered in decaying petals. The crowd turns to stare at the death witch. Her hands alight with power, far more than she should have. 

Fear courses through her, a fear she still remembers. 

In her panic, she touches one of the peacocks rented for the party. She watches in horror as her darkness claims the bird until all that is left is a pile of ash. 

Someone screams, then another, until the party is filled with terrified guests, but none more terrified than the witch herself. 

Only her brother rushes forward. Only he grips her hands even though he’s been avoiding her for years. He contracts her power, he stops her from killing more. 

Darkness creeps up his arms, slowly he gives all his power to her until he too is ash. 

“I killed you,” She whispers. Tears wet her face, as the room disappears. 

“But you can bring me back,”