The Beauty of Mist, the Beast of Dawn {INDEFINITE HOLD}

Chapter 11: The Witch

"I am doing this," I reminded myself. "I can do this." The words fell flat, doing nothing to calm my racing heart.

At present, I was scurrying around our cellar, an ancient book in hand, in preparation for the reading. It was not just any reading; it was my very first—and hopefully my last—and would determine my fate as well as that of my father. I had to do it correctly.

I flipped the book to the tenth page, skipping the foreword. In an attempt to soothe my nerves, I read the opening paragraph aloud. "First readings are generally important milestones for the wiccan. Not only are they signs of power, but they also highlight humility in a witch. For one with unhuman power to willingly lower themselves by submitting to the stars is significant."

I rolled my eyes. Great. As a witch, I did not know any of that whatsoever.

I skimmed through the rest of the chapter as well as the second and third. Naturally, they continued the explanation of a reading's significance, transitioning into one's motive to perform a reading, deepening one's understanding of the advantages and disadvantages, and discussing the possible consequences—all of which, I had known for quite some time.

After a few minutes, I gave up, slamming the book shut with more aggression than was warranted. I almost wanted to apologize to it, as it was more the author at fault and not the book itself, but I refrained. According to the public eye, I was odd enough; I had no need to act any odder in my own home. Instead, I looked to a new source for the information, a source I had vowed to myself I would not read until I was eighteen. I opened my mother's journal.

.......................................................................................................................

Today was one of the best days of my life. James returned from his boarding school in Beilie, armed with new information, with education (!), and he offered to teach me everything. Everything.

I love him for it. I love the way he talks, the way he looks at you like your conversation is the only thing that matters in the world. I love his smile and his—

I skipped the next several pages. Any other day, I would have wanted to make myself comfortable and absorb my mother's innermost thoughts, all of the stories Papa never told me. However, it was not any other day, and I could not bear to read about my parents' perfect romance.

It felt like hours passed before I found anything promising. I was nearing the end of the journal and beginning to lose hope when a word caught my attention. A word, a name. My name. I read the entry from the beginning once, twice, and on the third time, I burst into tears. It was dated five days after the prince's birthday. Three days after my birthday. Two days before my mother died.

I read it again.

June 11 - Year of the Silver Mist

They say that a witch's first reading is a rite of passage, a milestone in said witch's life. A significant one. Apparently, though, it was not significant enough for me. I record everything in here, but for whatever reason, I did not record this. In hindsight, that was incredibly foolish of me because I know you will read this someday, Myalah. You will turn to these well-loved pieces of paper, seeking answers you are too afraid to ask me for. Or for answers you cannot ask me for. So I will write my first reading now and hope you find this.

My first reading occurred ten years ago, the day Dalilah met Richard. The official word about how the couple met is that Richard saved Dalilah from being run down by a carriage. (As anyone from a small village would know, in Ilah, we have no room or need for carriages. We have merchant carts, and that's about it. I digress.) In truth, it was Richard who nearly ran her down. He was riding ahead of his carriage—so far ahead that to this day, I suspect he was trying to avoid being forced back into it—plowing forward at a headlong speed. If it weren't for my magic, he and his horse would have flattened Dalilah.