HISTORY OF WITCHES

INNOCENCE

I remember the meadow, vibrant with wildflowers, where I chased butterflies with abandon. My laughter echoes in my mind, a carefree joy that seemed to match the rhythm of the earth. I was six years old, with a heart full of wonder and a soul full of magic. I didn't know then that my life would take a dramatic turn, that my curiosity and sensitivity would set me apart.

As I look back, I see my mother, Elara, watching me from the doorway of our cottage. Her smile was warm, but her eyes held a hint of caution. "Arachne, come inside!" she called, her voice gentle but firm. "It's time for your lessons."

I reluctantly said goodbye to the butterflies and skipped towards the cottage, my blonde pigtails bouncing behind me. I didn't know then that those lessons would become a prison, or that my innocence would be the very last thing that would set me free.
As I entered the cottage, my mother's hands, worn from years of hard work, guided me to the small table where my lessons awaited. But today's lesson wasn't about herbs or healing. Today, my mother wanted to teach me how to be an elegant wife.

"Arachne, a woman's place is beside her husband," she said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of sadness. "You must learn to sew, to cook, and to manage a household. These are the skills that will serve you well in life."

I nodded reluctantly, my mind wandering to the forest, where I'd rather be exploring. But my mother's words were laced with an unspoken warning: this was the path laid out for me, and I must follow it.

She handed me a needle and thread, showing me how to stitch a perfect seam. But my fingers fumbled, and the thread tangled in my hands. I felt a surge of frustration, and my mother's patience wore thin.

"Arachne, focus!" she chided. "A wife must be skilled with her hands. What will your husband think if you can't even sew a decent dress?"

I bit back a retort, feeling the weight of expectation settling upon me. I wonder if my mom knew I was still six years old, that my hands were better suited for climbing trees than holding a needle. I wonder if she knew that I had no desire to be an elegant wife, that my heart longed for adventure.
My mother's eyes seemed to cloud over, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of doubt. But then, her expression hardened, and she patted my hand.

"You'll learn, Arachne. You must. Your father wants the best for you, and this is the way to ensure a good marriage." I nodded, feeling a knot form in my stomach. As the lesson dragged on, I made mistake after mistake, my stitches uneven and clumsy. My mother sighed, her patience wearing thin.

"Try again, Arachne. You can do better." But I couldn't. My heart wasn't in it. My mind wandered to the forest, to the secrets it held, to the beauty that called to me and when the lesson finally ended, I felt a mix of relief and frustration.

As I put down the needle and thread, my mother's gaze lingered on me, a mix of disappointment and determination. I knew that look, the one that said she wouldn't give up on me, no matter how stubborn I proved to be.

"Let's take a break, Arachne," she said finally, her voice softening. "We'll try again tomorrow." I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude. Tomorrow seemed far away, and I reveled in the temporary reprieve. As I left the room, my mind began to wander once more to the forest.

One sunny afternoon, I wandered into the forest, searching for wildflowers to bring back to my mother. As I wandered deeper into the woods, I stumbled upon a clearing and found a girl about my age, with curly brown hair and bright green eyes. She was sitting on a rock, playing with a small doll.

"Hello," she said, looking up at me with a smile. "My name is Daphne. What's yours?" "I'm Arachne," I replied, feeling a sense of shyness wash over me. Daphne's eyes lit up.