Evienne, Witch of Woodendale

Part 3: A Buried Memory

A foggy feeling rested over Evienne's mind. Sunlight... a warm kitchen, full of love and memories. Bread. Milk. Mother.

Mommy.
"OH, Mama. If you could see me now..."
"If only I could have saved you then...Where did you go? Mommy?"

"Mommy, can we go to the market today?"
"Of course sweetie, Just finish up your chores first, alright? I'll buy you a pretty red ribbon when you're done."
"Okay Mommy!"
"Beatrice needs milking, and you need to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. Fetch me some water from the well, and sweep the kitchen. When all that is done, come find me and we can go to the market."
"Okay Mommy! I'll work hard, and then we can go together, promise?"
"I promise. Oh, and tomorrow is your father's birthday. Do you want to help me bake a cake?"
"OH, yay! Yes, that's going to be sososo fun!!"
"We're almost out of flour, so you'll need to remind me to get some at the market, okay, sugarcube?"
"Okay!"

Evienne rushed out the back door of her parent's farmhouse. She rushed through her chores, milking Beatrice, their tawny milking cow, in record time. She rushed through getting dressed. And then she rushed right back to the kitchen where her mother had been, eager to go and totally out of breath.
"Mommy, I'm done!" She cried to the empty air. "Mommy?" "Mommy where are you?" Her small voice felt a pang of panic. "M- Mommy!? W-Where did you go?"
The young Evienne searched all over the farmhouse. And then she turned and saw it: The front door was open. She froze and held her breath, scared of what she might find...
She stepped out into the blinding sunlight, shading her eyes from its brilliance. She sniffed the air... blood.
What she saw next, she would never forget. Her parents, lying side by side on the ground, red stuff pooling next to their bodies. The hay they had been carrying, soggy, red, and full of the viscous liquid. The scene of absolute carnage that lay before her was too much for her six year old mind to comprehend. Terror gripped her heart and mind like a vise, crushing any dreams of happiness for that sunny day. The metallic smell of blood  and heated earth permeated the summer air. She stumbled backwards into the kitchen and shut the door, barring it from the inside. Her heart raced, and her breathing quickened. She stifled a scream in case anyone was nearby still. Thud... Thud... Thud... it came from upstairs, where she just was only moments ago. Footsteps.
Bandits. Her parents were slain by them. Ravenous, power-hungry, beastly people.
Bad people. They hurt Mommy and Daddy.

They had targeted her farm. She had to get away. There was nowhere to run to. But she had to run. There was no time to lose. She shoved the loaf of freshly baked  bread her mother had just made and some red apples into her apron, and took off like the wind, tearing through her father's wheat fields and over the green pasture surrounding the property. She didn't stop running until she reached the tree line, her small heart pounding out of her chest, her breath racing behind to catch up with her. Only then did she turn around to view the place she had called her home her entire life. It was in flames. Orange billows flowed out of her bedroom window, and the roof was gone. Everything had been torched, set ablaze by the evils that plagued this world. There was nothing left of her childhood for her to call home. Nothing... left. Nothing.

She wandered the forest aimlessly for weeks, her clothes ragged and dirty. She became extremely skinny from lack of food, only grazing on berries whenever she could. One day, about noon, deep in the heart of the forbidding, dark forest, she came upon a lonely, crumbling stone tower. "I'll be safe from those bad people here.", she thought to herself. She stepped into the lonely, cold stones and found a mossy corner to rest upon. Utterly exhausted, she pulled the tattered rags she used to call her Sunday best around her, though they were damp and provided little warmth, and slept.
When she awoke, a strange presence filled the tower. She sat up, rubbing her eyes of sleep. A glowing light came from underneath a pile of crumbled cobblestone. She stood, her grimy fingers bloody and sore from picking blackberries and getting scratched by the thorns. She went over to the glow, her eyes entranced by it's beauty. She scrabbled at the pile, her bloody fingers aching, until...
Underneath was a lovely spellbook, obviously out of place by how it looked as if it was just made, and hardly a speck of dust clung to it. Its auburn leather seemed to glow from within, and it had a red gem set in the center. Powerful, strange runes were stamped into every section of the leather. The scent of freshly tanned leather further enhanced the feeling that this book had been just created, but many factors suggested otherwise.

Her tiny hand lingered just inches from the intricate cover. Some part of her mind was screaming for her not to. Don't touch it, dont!... her conscience said.
She dared not touch it, and yet...
It's aura seemed to be calling to her.
She couldn't resist.
She picked it up, cuddling it close like a stuffed animal. Suddenly, she felt a searing pain surge through her body, almost too much for her to bear. It felt like she was being burned by the very fire her home had been destroyed by, surging through her veins and tearing her apart. Her teeth grew, and her skin became pale. The glow disappeared from the book's gem and placed itself in her eyes, giving them a soft, red radiance. She stumbled back, dropping the glorious book, waiting for the pain to subside and cradling her head between her knees. She rocked, humming to herself, desperately trying to distract herself from the overwhelming pain and wincing with each new wave. And then, all at once, the transformation was complete. She laid back in the same mossy corner, too exhausted to even speak. She hugged the spellbook near and close, understanding that it was now her lifeline. She slept, long and deep, her sleep the only tangible comfort to her grief, pain, and loss.