A/N
Okay firstly to anyone who’s reading this right now thanks, I really appreciate it. Second, please don’t judge me if this book isn’t very good, I’m barely thirteen. Anywhooooooosssss this book is actually about witches and may have some romantic parts, feel free to comment, vote and make any suggestions on how I can improve it. Sorry if I can’t spell and my grammar matches a foreign but here it is.
Please read on
Bye
Tasniim x
(Ps: I kinda need a name and a cover for this book, feel free to make any suggestions.x
Chapter 1
Christmas marked the life of Jesus Christ and Easter marked his resurrection. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ, but I am sure of that.
My sister’s name was Serena May. Her name came from the word serene, meaning peaceful, but her death was far from that. She was murdered. Mercilessly. Brutally whipped, kicked and cut until she met her death.
Serena was born on the 25th of December, also known as Christmas day, today; ‘Easter Sunday’ is her funeral. My mind is in such a state of turmoil currently, turmoil to a point where I am not sure of the simplest of things, like my name. But despite the chaos in my head and the never ending waterfall of tears staining my cheeks, I am sure of one thing: my sister is dead, and she will not miraculously rise from the dead today.
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I wore battered black converse, a modest black skirt and a white tank top. An oversized blazer, concealing my fingertips, hid my arms and a black hat, tipped on a jaunty angle hangs clumsily on my head. My hair was shimmering with grease, but looked dull and lifeless in colour. My face was an unearthly white and my lips were a purplish red in colour and my eyes were bloodshot red, matching the eyes of everyone else in the hall.
It was a beautiful day, ironically, and to add to that irony it was also Easter Sunday, a day of celebration or rest for all. All but the Williams family, instead we were mourning, mourning over the death of my sister.
“Rebel” someone said in a harsh whisper. I turned to my right to be greeted by the glaring eyes of my mother.
“Won’t you please pay attention” she huffed in annoyance, “It’s your turn to speak”.
