That Witch Bitch

Dust

"I saw a boy, the antichrist. He won. You guys couldn't stop him, he is even more powerful than you y/n. He is a couple years younger than you, I can't tell you what he looked like because I only saw his demonic face. It was the year twenty-..." Queenie attempts to finish the sentence but it was too late.

Queenie's body went stiff all of a sudden.

You looked to your watch and it didn't surprise you when you saw it read exactly 12:00.

Before you could even comprehend it, Queenie was disintergrating, right in front of your very eyes.

Her features turning into a fine yet flakey flesh coloured dust that floated away in the icy wind of the first November morning of the year.

Misty stared as Queenie's ashes disappear into the silence of the city, leaving anyone who was coincidentally up at this hour and watching you three witches (now only two) to feel very confused.

"No! Queenie!" Misty let's out a blood curdling scream of loss, falling on her knees by where Queenie had once sat.

It was quite odd that there was no trace of Queenie's sudden death, it would make the funeral arrangements easier at least.

You weren't completely sure what was going on with Queenie's life (more like death) because she had died twice; once at the hotel, once right here on the street.

You didn't understand ghosts very well but at least you understood them more than the average person would guess.

You wondered if Queenie would go back to the hotel or just completely vanish from existence.

Magic worked in strange ways.

Still, you couldn't stop thinking about the so called 'Antichrist'.

The strange thing about the books you'd read before was that some sources said that the 100th daughter/omnipotent one was also the antichrist but others said that the 100th daughter was the one to vanquish it.

It seemed the latter was more likely from Queenie's description but it still got under your skin that you might bring about the end of the world.

Misty was still on the floor crying but you were left feeling numb inside.

That low dull sensation of pain began to kick in, making you double over.

Grief was a sick thing. Not a good one.

You probably would've cried but you were too tired.

Soon enough, a bus pulled up beside the stop that you were waiting at.

Then, after the last silent bus came to a halt in New Orleans, you walked towards the academy entrance.

You barely had the strength to push open the gates but you eventually made it inside the building.