Writing Contest Prompts

Whispering Winter Contest

The old witch gazed upon the long table with tired, stone-grey eyes. Each place has been meticulously set for her family–her coven–to arrive. The long mahogany table was covered with a delicate lace cloth and covered with tableware of all shapes and sizes. They were unassuming, but told the story of a long and varied life. There were the pretty silver tea spoons, gifted to her by a lover long ago, sitting next to the dark-red clay bowls where she had brewed many a dark potion and the misshapen metal goblets which she purchased from a traveling merchant in Florence two hundred years prior. There were no knives. Minna, the iron witch, knew that her sisters were sure to bring their own.

Minna nodded once in satisfaction and made her way to the door. Her bones creaked with each step. She was old now, older even than her great grandmother, who had lived to be five hundred years old. She could feel the age creeping through her veins like spiders. There was not much time left.

At the threshold, Minna raised her arms above her head, letting the cold bite of magic to gather at her fingertips. She brought down her arms in a sharp movement, and the seal on the door released. Now her home was made visible to outsiders.

Almost immediately, there came a knock on the door. Minna turned the knob with her weathered hand and opened it. Her coven was already waiting outside in the snow-covered forest, invitations in hand. Minna stepped back and gestured for them to enter, and they did so eagerly, chattering amongst themselves while thanking her as an afterthought. She saw the hunger in their eyes. She had extended an invitation for the Yuletide celebration, but all the witches knew what this really was: her finally meal, and her time to name an heir.

Minna's sisters, took their places at the table, and food appeared before them as soon as they reached for it. They ate together with a veneer of geniality, but the distrust in the heir was palpable. Minna saw it as thick as mist as she made her way to the head of the table and took her seat. Two beautiful stone lions sat at either side of her, symbols of her power and authority in the coven.

Each of the witches believed fervently that they would be named heir to Minna's magic, and all the power she had collected over her long life. Cultivating power was a costly and time-consuming endeavor, and witches were notorious for seeking shortcuts. And inheritance of magic? Well, that was the easiest shortcut of all for a power-hungry young witch.

Without preamble, Minna stood up. Immediately, the coven quieted, turning to look at her with bright eager eyes. Her back was stooped now, her face lined with wrinkles, and prominent blue veins climbed up her arms. She looked out over her sisters' faces. They were all young, beautiful, and ambitious. She was the last of her generation, the old generation, and so many other had been taken by war and battle. But they had survived, their coven, even in smaller numbers.

Minna could never remember the other witches' names or faces. All of them were her granddaughters or great granddaughters or nieces– but the family tree quickly grew too complicated to bother with. But one face drew her gaze. She met the solemn gray eyes of a young witch with black curls tied back with a red ribbon, dressed in a simple black shift. She had the same face as Minna's very first daughter, long gone now but the memory of her so clear, and Minna could feel, with the innate sense unique to witches, that this witch was her first daughter's first daughter's descendent, the rare witch who was a first daughter for seven unbroken generations.

Minna stared at the witch for another long minute. The gaze was returned with a grim stare, ambitious like the others but more cautious, less arrogant.

The old witch shook her head, dragging her gaze away. The coven needed her answer, and here, on this Yuletide night, the time had come.

"My time on this earth is over," Minna announced, her low, rasping voice booming with the pulse of her magic. A cold wind flowed through the room, making some of the witches shiver in their seats, though all stared at Minna with rapt attention. And many of them too, gripped their knives and scepters under the lace tablecloth, ready to kill one another to get a piece of the magic. Minna let out a short sigh. Truly, witches never changed.

"I raised this coven from nothing. For hundreds of years I have cultivated my magic, in hopes that it would protect us all from outsiders. Now, as my spirit leaves the world, my magic must have a new master to guide it."

The witches all leaned forward in their seats, anticipation written on their faces. The witch with the red ribbon only frowned, her brows furrowed.

Minna burst out into uproarious laughter, a gruff cackle that echoed throughout the room. She laughed and laughed, until there was no air left in her chest. At last, she came back to herself, shaking her head, and looked back at the witches.

"My magic shall go to... no one!" Minna announced gleefully, and clasped her hands together in front of her. She focused her mind, shutting out the protests and outraged shouts of her coven, as she gathered magic into her palms, enough magic capable of destroying itself if aimed internally.

"I suggest you leave now," Minna shouted above the noice, her eyes twinkling. "It takes great power to destroy such a trove of magic... You best leave if you don't want to be destroyed along with it."

Minna noticed the witch with the red-ribbon grimace and rush out the door immediately, back into the snow. Some others grumbled further, shouting their complaints, and followed her, looking back wistfully. Still others rushed forward to attack. Minna jerked her chin out and the stone lion statues at her side burst to life, guarding her against the witches trying to interfere. They were too weak and inexperienced to know better. They could not stop the ceremony now, not even if they tried.

The ritual took all of Minna's concentration and she could not tell how many witches stayed in vain and how many went.

The magic was cold, and it was light, and beautiful. Minna laughed once more, directing the magic against itself. And then Minna, the old iron witch, was destroyed along with her magic.