The Necromancy Witch

Chapter 2: Warmth and Spices

The pair of morning doves outside my window love to coo when the sun rose in the east, waking me from another nightmare. I was covered in sweat and clammy as the morning air slipped through my cracked window. The pale blue paint surrounding the window pane slowly chipped away from the moisture. The night terrors have gotten worse lately. I had them almost every night this week, waking up disoriented in my upstairs room lunging for the glass of water on the nightstand to soothe the incessant nausea that came from the dreams. It was the same every night. Swirling black symbols surrounded my naked body as I was flung through the sky. The symbols were drawings of some sorts or perhaps letters in a language that I was sure didn't exist. As I flung through the night air, exposed, I hurtled toward a pit that swallowed the ground. It surged with energy , malignant energy .

 The symbols fused to my skin in ice-hot agony, changing my ivory flesh to that flecked with black tattoos in foreign tongue. This is where I always woke up, when the darkness was about to engulf me. I got out of bed, my nightgown glued to my bodice with a thick layer of sweat. The washbasin was atop the gold dresser Father hauled up here when he, at last, could not stand the sight of it. It still smelled like pine, and it radiated a glean that was out of place in my cramped room, lined with wrought iron furniture. Sometimes when I looked at the mirror I saw her, staring back at me. Other times I just saw my own lilac eyes staring back, disapproving of the reflection. The house was quiet while I dressed and I made my way down to the kitchen. Father was seldom up before midday, exhausted from another night of overindulgence. I had become accustomed to it, the drunken babblings of a man who lived in denial and heartbreak. His muddy boot prints tracked up the stair and I sighed as I looked at the barren cupboards in the tiny forgotten kitchen. The intelligent mind that my mother would brag about drifted away with each pint of ale. Sometimes it seemed he forgot I was there, that some magical fairy must be the one clearing up his vomit, washing his clothes and carrying him to bed when he was too far gone to stand. I laced my boots and stood in the dusty mirror next to the door, fixed my unruly red curls, smoothing them into a high bun. Charles was meeting me in an hour at the market, and he always seemed to compliment me more when my hair was neat and tidy. Remarking that my beauty "Was outshined by the rats nest notoph my head". The smoothing potion I got from the apothecary seemed to make the frizz worse leaving the curls damp and slick as if rinsed with oil. As such I opted for smoothing gel and tons of tiny pins to keep it in place. Mother always loved the tiny flame red curls that fell from my shoulder admiring their shines and unique color. Only a mother's love could value something so messy. As I walked to the door I looked back at the mirror seeing the two gray pieces of hair that framed my face, a reminder of her. They were almost white and I always tucked them behind my ears to minimize its queerness.

The street was very busy today as the weather was favorable and every vendor and merchant thought to take advantage of peoples inclination to enjoy the sunny day. I passed a booth selling fried dough dipped in spices and sugar and heard my stomach growl. It had been days since I had eaten. Father had found my saved coins and spent a rather indulgent evening with a bar maid. As he did with any women who gave him a a fraction amount of attention. This gallantry resulted in leaving me nothing for food. I'd be smarter next time and hide the gold in a new spot I thought as I rounded the corner. I hurried my pace as noon approached happy to see Charles waiting for me. The open market was swarming with people, all stopping at each tented booth to look at clothes, wares and spices from all over the contnteinet. I passed a man arguing with brown-haired thin women over a silk scarf she held in her fragile hands. I tuned them out as the arguing turned into a cussing match and quickened to where I saw Charles sitting against a cobblestone-lined wall eating something out of greasy paper. He smiled when he saw me approaching, I will never get used to how white his teeth are . He was tall and lean, yet muscular. With ash blond hair and freckled cheeks. His dark brown eyes almost look black in the shade and he had a way of making me feel like I was his most important thing. He motioned for me to sit down and I adjusted my dark skirts to squat on the ground next to him.