The Witch's Candelabra

Chapter 20 - The Chase Intensifies

Braids:

After another day's work in the pawn shop, I made my way to the rooftop, my personal sanctuary above the cluttered world below. The garden on the roof, my little haven amidst the urban sprawl, was a stark contrast to the shop's cramped quarters filled with the relics of other people's lives.

I stretched out on my back, the cool, uneven surface of the rooftop a welcome reprieve. Above me, the sky was a canvas of shifting clouds, painted in hues of white and grey against the azure backdrop. The sun peeked through occasionally, casting fleeting shadows that danced across my face. A soft breeze whisked across the rooftop, teasing bits of my bangs into the air, making them flutter like whimsical string kites.

As I lay there, a sigh escaped my lips, a sound of contentment mixed with a lingering sense of longing. Something felt incomplete, a piece of the picture that was missing. My gaze shifted to the side, where my top hat lay abandoned on the roof tiles. With a fluid motion, I reached over, the fabric feeling familiar and comforting under my fingertips. I placed it carefully upon my head, adjusting it with a practiced ease. My bangs settled back onto my forehead, framing my face with a sense of completion.

Sitting up, I took a moment to take in the view. The rooftop garden was alive with the vibrant colors of flowers and plants, a stark contrast to the grey cityscape surrounding it. It was a world of my own making, a blend of nature and magic, where I could escape the mundane reality below.

The rooftop was more than just a physical space; it was a reflection of my inner self, a place where I could be truly me, away from prying eyes and the weight of expectations. Here, among the whispering leaves and the scent of blooming flowers, I found a peace that was rare in my life. It was a place where I could dream, plan, and simply exist without the need to hide or pretend.

As the wind continued to play with my hair, I closed my eyes and let the tranquility of the garden wash over me. In this moment, on this rooftop, I was free – free from the burdens of my secrets, free from the complexities of a life intertwined with magic and mystery.

Descending from my rooftop refuge, I retreated to my room, a sense of weariness enveloping me. The stone ceiling above seemed to loom, a silent witness to my inner turmoil. I collapsed onto my bed, the mattress barely cushioning the weight of my exhaustion. For a moment, I just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, a deep sigh escaping my lips.

After some time, I mustered the energy to rise. My body felt stiff, every movement accompanied by the crack of joints and the stretch of unused muscles. I gravitated towards my desk, where my organized collection of spices waited, their scents a reminder of the magic they held. I scooped some ground cinnamon into the fire, watching as a spark of yellow-orange danced and flickered from the flames.

Turning to consult my bookshelf for further insight into cinnamon's properties, I froze. The shelf where my spellbook usually rested was glaringly empty. A sense of panic gripped me as I frantically searched the room – under the bed, among the scattered papers on my desk – but it was nowhere to be found. The realization hit me like a physical blow: could Damian have broken in and stolen it?

A rush of horror swept through me, my heart pounding furiously, a hummingbird trapped in a cage of ribs. My head throbbed with a sharp pain, each beat echoing the betrayal I felt. I had let my guard down, allowed myself to feel something other than disdain for Damian, and now I was paying the price.

I sank to my knees, the cold stone floor a stark contrast to the warmth of my tears. My black wings, usually a symbol of strength and freedom, now felt like a suffocating shroud, enveloping me in a cocoon of despair. I curled into myself, overwhelmed by a sense of defeat and betrayal.