Morning circle gathered early as the witches liked to greet the dawn, sitting around a low burning fire as that sipped tea, practiced their spell work, or chatted with one another. A cast iron pot hung over the flame, heating the days breakfast, but Lucy passed on her serving of warm oats and spring berries. Instead, she stared into her empty wooden bowl, fixated on a pattern embedded there shaped like wings and the carefully carved lines around it.
She was so transfixed by the shape that she did not notice the newcomer stroll over to the spot where she, Sabrina, and Bea sat resting in the tall grasses that made up the circle.
It was not until he spoke that she jolted to attention. "If you stare at the at bowl any harder, you will burn a hole through it, and it takes Dian forever to carve those things."
Looking up, Lucy found the source of the voice planted in front of her--a tall but willowy boy with ashy gray hair and eyes that swirled in shades of green and yellow. His pupils were strange; too narrow like a snake...or cat. Off his shoulder hung a sleek bow and quiver of red fletched arrows. Two fat hares were strung along his waist, like he had just returned from a hunt. A steaming bowl of oats filled his hands as he nervously shifted his weight back and forth.
"Hunter!" Sabrina beamed up at the boy with a light in her eyes Lucy knew she had vague memories of from her childhood, but had yet to see since their reunion. "You have returned from training." Beside her, Bea growled low and warningly. Sabrina placed a steady hand on the fur of her back and gave long, rhythmic strokes. "There, there girl. Do not pretend you did not miss his visits to the cabin as much as I did," she cooed with a motherly warmth that made Lucy's heart squeeze.
Hunter smirked, a look that transformed his face into something mischievous as he plopped down a few feet in front of Lucy with a weary side-eye towards the shepherd Familiar as if he expected her to get up and chase him off at any second. "Yes, I have returned, and mostly in one piece. Master Cole was not the kindest teacher, but I no longer transform at random. I am finally at the mercy of my own will."
This pricked at the cloud of numbness surrounding Lucy. Her head perked up and she shot the boy a half curious glance, though her voice was hollow when she asked, "You are not a witch?"
The boy, who had just taken a large bite, nearly choked on his oats. Sabrina leaned forward to slap him on his back, but soon enough they were both grinning over at Lucy like a pair of conspiring teenagers. "They are called warlocks, and no." He glanced at her mother before adding in a hushed tone, "I am not one of those stuffed robes."
Sabrina hushed him with a poorly disguised laugh, sharing whatever inside joke they had surrounding this subject.
"What are you then?" She had not meant to sound so disgusted as she asked, but seeing her mother act so naturally maternal with someone Lucy's age gnawed at her insides. She could not help but wonder if she had traded one child for another. If she was staring at her own replacement, a child who had filled a void in her mother's heart all these years while she got nothing but harsh words and the unfortunate end of an ivory cane to grow up with.
"Luciana!" Sabrina scolded her like she was still a small girl, "You are being rude."
"It is okay," the boy, Hunter, only seemed amused by her bluntness. "I am a Familiar." His strange eyes regarded her with unbridled fascination. "What or who are you, Luciana?" Her name curled in the air between them like a challenge.
One of the older witches approached from the other side of the circle, beckoning Sabrina to follow her to a group of weavers gathered around their work. "I will only be a moment," she promised and mouthed play nice once at a point where Hunter's back was to her.
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Beautiful Torment *Book One of the Beautiful series*
FantasyFor most of her life Luciana Clement was raised as a servant in a pleasure house. She dreams of leaving the manor one day, travel the world. Which she has only been able to do through the stories of the men that come and go. One very late night, th...