Mortals may have believed they had burned the witches on the stake hundreds of years ago. However, how would a simply puny human think they had to power to catch a true witch.
A true witch has magic in her fingers and devilry dancing in her blood.
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March 20th 2006
When the witchling eyes opened again, she found herself in some sort of velvety red bedsheets. The room around her was quite dark with red curtains pulled tightly over the windows. It saddened the witchling that they would choose to lay her in the darkness.
Whoever had laid her in this bed seemed to have taken the time to lay her down and cover her with the thick bedsheet. She wondered if they had mistaken her meditation for her resting. Which she did not understand. Even if their ancestors had forsaken them surely they would have spoken to them at least once to recognize what she was doing.
Instead, she was laid to bed. As she pulled back the comforter a gust of cold wind covered her. She could not help but wonder why they kept their coven house so cold. A warming spell was one of the very first spells her mother had taught her. It was a necessity to live.
Ignoring the bone-chilling coldness she walked towards the window before drawing back the curtains to see the moon high in the sky. Perhaps she was out longer than she had been expecting.
As she turned towards the room she saw the boy she taught sitting in one of the lounge chairs next to the fireplace watching her. Had he been there the entire time and never announced himself?
She decided that he was an odd witch. Perhaps, a bit slow-minded.
"What is your name," He asked lightly.
The witch smiled lightly before explaining to him the origin of her name:
"When my mother had given birth to me under the night sky one star stood out from the rest. She believed it to be a sign given by the heavens above. That very star belonged to the constellation Canis Major."
She paused to give him a second to guess her name. However, it seemed like he was unwilling to play her little game and looked at her expectantly still holding her bouquet of chrysanthemums. Which caused a small grin to break out on her face, "You still have the flowers I gave you."
"Yes, the omen of death. Thank you, darling, but please do continue with the original question."
She looked at him slightly confused as to what he was referring to. It seemed like her train of thought had forgotten what story she was telling him originally. She could not help but allow her mind to wander when she was with this particular boy.
