A Witch's Game | ✓

1 | Celebration Isn't Must

31/12/1903

The sun poured its fresh rays, wafting through the curtains that were burbling against the wooden window. Priscilla sat up with eyes too heavy to keep open. She unconsciously slid her feet into her slipper as drowsiness coursed through her veins.

The date did not matter nor the day, what mattered more was the sweet sleep whirling around her mind with dreams so vivid and honey coated that she longed to lay back again and snuggle deep in her blanket, but she couldn't, at least not today.

She surged to her feet, glancing at the calendar fixed on the wall as she tilted her head. A lazy smile crept on her poker face, causing her to look like a creep, which she was not. After all, her intentions were good, and she deserved to smile.

It was the day where she'd cried for the first time and her mother had become the happiest person alive; it was her birthday. Priscilla slightly jiggled her head at the memory, sauntering to the bathroom.

Though a villager, the Anderson family didn't belong to those middle-class or poor people. They don't have to use a wooden bucket with a metal handle to carry water, or anything. A house with three bedrooms, a living room with a wooden fireplace was all she had, yet that all was labelled as luxurious.

Priscilla moseyed out of the bathroom, clad in a full-sleeved knee-length white dress which had a threading of small yellow and white flowers, obsidian hair tied up with an orange ribbon adorning it.

She ambled out of her room, fingers losing the grip around the doorknob, but a thought of what she'd been doing briefly crossed her mind, causing her to pull and lock the door behind.

She had already envisioned her mother baking a cake; it was always like this, so when the fragment of imagination had come as a reality before her eyes, a smile formed on her face. As Priscilla took a step forward, a gust of wind passed through her.

She brought her hand up; she rested it on her chest in an attempt to calm her racing heart. She frowned, parting her lips for a deep breath. All of a sudden, she was able to breathe and coughed.

Marilyn heard some faint footsteps and she could swear it was her sweetheart daughter Priscilla trying to surprise her mother with a back hug. This time she thought of being a little mischievous, keeping the reminder of her age aside.

Marilyn briskly rubbed her hands together as soon as the sound of footsteps stopped. She yelled as she spun around.

"Boo!"

Marilyn's chirpy tone was replaced by a high-pitched voice as she muttered a few incoherent sentences, taking in the odd form of her daughter, whilst she rushed to Priscilla. "Are you okay?"

She paused, carefully forming a perfect excuse that could set Marilyn at ease, for she did not want her mother to fret over her state that lasted for mere minutes. "Oh mom," Priscilla walked past Marilyn as she settled herself on the chair positioned before the dining table.

"It was an obvious prank, you took me really seriously this time." Marilyn only shook her head, disappointed at Priscilla, and kept her silence, folding her hands over her chest. The intensity of her glare increased as she narrowed her eyes.

Priscilla ignored her mom's gaze and picked up the knife, beginning to cut the cake, but halted her actions and stole a glance at her mother with a frown who did not move an inch. She sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, forgive me now."