Author Games: Town of Mayhem

Past Mayhem | Neutral

Ada Wilson: Witch

Being a witch, Ada Wilson had seen her fair share of the supernatural.

Throughout her life, she'd dealt with a number of creatures such as demons, nephilim, and reapers, but most frequently, spirits. It wasn't as if she were friends with any of them - she would take it as an offence if anyone even suggested so. No, her meetings with otherworlders, as she liked to call them, were strictly business. Once, she'd managed to obtain several rare unicorn hairs for a spell from a crossroads demon, and another time she'd made a deal with a rogue reaper regarding...She shook her head, scattering her thoughts. She had to focus.

But spirits - spirits were dangerous. In her experience, they had been the most unpredictable class of otherworlders she had ever met. Spirits could be vengeful; grieving and evil; or kind, watchful and good. Their human past, unlike other supernatural entities, was the largest contributing factor to whether or not they would be classified as a good ghost or an evil ghost. As Ada Wilson lifted up her scared knife and drew the blade across her palm, she wondered if the summoning spell would work, and if it did, if she would receive the answer for the origins of the mysterious wolves she'd been searching for. They had taken the life of Theodore Williams already, as well as the girl with fiery red hair. As her crimson blood dripped from her hand and into the giant iron pot, she stepped back, careful not to touch the ring of salt around it. Inhaling deeply, she whispered ever so softly, "Ostende te."

A red, orange and yellow ball of rage roared upwards around the edges of the pot immediately, swiftly eating its way through the wooden logs at its base. Plumes of grey smoke were buffeted into the air and up the chimney, carried aimlessly by a chill evening wind from an open window. Ashen debris glided silently away from the smoke onto the fabric of the stone-faced woman, who stood still in anticipation for what may come. For the spell Ada Wilson had just uttered was none other than a summoning spell - a summoning spell for a ghost.

As the flames died down, she allowed her eyes to dart across the room, searching for a sign, any sign, that a spirit had entered the world of the living. At first, there seemed to be nothing, and Ada felt disappointment well up in her heart. She looked back at her pot, only to see the faintest outline of a woman standing beside the cauldron. Quick as a flash, the witch had reached for her fire iron from the fireplace and a bottle of salt from her dinner table. The salt ring may keep the spirit out for now, but there was always a chance that a spirit could escape its prison. She had learned in her earlier years that having backup supplies in hand was always the best option when dealing with impulsive spirits.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two. The ghost did not move - it simply stood in its place with its head hanging low. If she focused hard enough, she could vaguely make out the ghost's appearance - its threads of frizzle raven hair, tucked messily away underneath a worn and tattered bonnet. Her skin was transparent, like all spirits, but it gave the appearance of having been tan and browned by the sun. Most ghosts she had dealt with had been old and worn, with weariness glimmering in their eyes. But not this ghost. This ghost - she was beautiful.

Such behaviour and appearance somehow managed to arouse some glimmer of fascination in Ada Wilson's heart. Instead of launching straight into her rehearsed questions about the wolf creatures, she murmured softly, "Hello?"

The ghost stirred as if the voice of a living being triggered something inside of her. She stood a little straighter and lifted her head, only for her hollow, sunken black eyes to connect deep with the stormy grey irises of Ada's. Her pale lips parted as she rasped out the witch's name, a hoarse yet velvety question of, "Ada Wilson?", to which the witch nodded in reply. "Ah," the ghost woman's form rippled, and instinctively, Ada lifted her fire iron as her body shifted into a defensive stance. "I thought it was you. The new witch." There was something in her voice that sent shivers down her spine, a type of hidden menace or threat - so faint that one could barely see it, but definitely there. "And I thought that killing the Evil Witch would wipe all evil from Salem forever."