A Witch's Confession

1

A/N:

Thank you for reading my story. This story is indeed under construction and the material is subject to change. I've grown more as a writer and have very big plans for both of these stories, so with that... comes change. So stay tuned, more is on the way. :) (You are more than welcome to read my first draft - but just keep in mind that it could change.)

Part I: The Salem Witch

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January 3, 1928:

Another frigid day. We are in the depths of winter. I brought Hattie's journal with me to the university campus, against Mother & Father's will. Though reluctant, my father agreed to let me take it. However, I must show it to no one. I do long to be a part of the Salem Coven once again, like Hattie Baker. I can't imagine how frightened she was to run from the Trials. But thank you, Hattie. Father doesn't believe the Salem Coven exists anymore, and that is why we must stay hidden.

Beware of werewolves. They sense our magic. I wonder if they are responsible for the Trials.

I must update. My roommate, Elizabeth, has gone missing.

I saw her in the woods when looking for her. She is one of them. I don't know how she realized I am a witch. Now I am on the run.

"What are you reading? It smells old," Piper's amber eyes peered over the pages of the journal. I frantically slammed the heavy cover closed and began to chow down on lunch. She chewed on an apple slice, her expression growing curious. "I'm reading my great grandmother's journal from the 1920s." She studied it's cover. "That looks like something you'd find in Hogwarts." I nervously slipped the vintage leather book into my backpack. I didn't want to talk about magic. Well, it's not that I didn't want to, but I couldn't. My father would be seething if he even knew I brought the journal out in front of others. I can recall it all like it was yesterday...

"Zoe, there is an important lesson with magic," young green eyes peered at my dad. "We never use it, speak of it, or even identify with it in front of people who do not use magic." We never used the term witches or wizards... my dad believed those terms made us seem like aliens. But I still used them on occasion, mostly out of convenience. "Our family hasn't ever been able to join a coven, for many reasons. The main reason is our coven no longer exists." My young eyes sparkled with naivety. "What coven was that?" My dad looked like a piece of him went missing years ago, though it was a piece of him he never had. "We are—well, our family, was apart of the Salem Coven. We are descendants of Hattie Baker, a witch—I mean, magic user, who escaped from the Salem Witch Trials. Her journal was destroyed when your great grandmother lost her magic."

"Lost her magic?"

My dad's expression turned blank. "Yes, Zoe. From werewolves. A werewolf bite can be deadly, but many time's survivable. However, most magic users will permanently lose their magic." I looked at the vintage photograph of great-grandmother Sybil Baker. She never took a man's last name, a tradition witches often follow. I mean, magic user. My dad's terminology makes me cringe sometimes.

So Sybil lost her magic, and this was all before she met my great-grandfather, and before my own grandparents were born. She lost it the same age I currently am, 22. In your 20s, your magic can feel incredibly powerful. Some say it's at its peak, but I think you simply learn how to harness it as time goes on. I have always wondered why Sybil had an encounter with werewolves in the first place, but according to my dad, she refused to speak of it. There are bits and pieces to it, but she doesn't share the whole story. The portion of her journal that contained her reasoning holds a charm no one dares to break. No one has been able to unlock it, though a handful have attempted. But deep down, I've always wanted to crack the code myself.