Seven Witches

two

                 

Hera woke Cythera up, shaking her shoulders softly. Cythera groaned as she twisted to her side, squinting her eyes at the brightness of the room. "Tetka Helen just knocked, she wants you downstairs now and it sounded urgent," Hera said.

Cythera nodded, noting her sister's improved condition. Her face had regained its colour, her hair brushed and skin dry. She asked how she was doing and Hera said that the sickness was mostly gone, only a headache remained. Cythera undressed from the cloak she had forgotten to change out of yesterday and dressed into a simple white gown.

She pulled her sister into a short embrace and brushed her hair back, holding her face into her palms. Hera's smile was otherworldly, even when Cythera was the one with otherworldly abilities. There was very little the two girls owned: a room purchased from their hard work, and a handful of items.

There was nothing she wouldn't do to make sure her sister stays out of the dancing stage. Instead, she worked in the kitchen with the other girls, washing dishes and chopping vegetables. Cythera works as an exotic dancer, a job that got her much more money than her sister's job but she made sure she didn't know how much.

She was very popular among the dancers, and Tetka Helen always earned a ton of money every time she danced on stage. The commoners call her White Raven, a name she'd earned with her eerie dances and luxurious dresses.

As a girl she used to love dancing, the feel of the music soaring through her as she threw the silk around her, twirling and throwing her hair with the beat. Cythera used to wake up at dawn to be the first to practice with Tetka, she didn't know why she was being trained or why Tetka was so satisfied with her.

It all began to fade away when she first performed six years ago. At first, she loved how the crowd cheered, but back then she was only a twelve year old who had a passion for dancing. At age of thirteen, she had her first bleeding.

Suddenly everything began to fall apart for her as she watched her body change into a woman's body. More men started paying attention to her movements and she'd had countless encounters outside her room where they tried to touch her. For months Cythera was frightened to dance on stage and Tetka Helen lost a lot of money.

Now, at age of eighteen, dancing became a dread crawling up her spine. She missed being a little girl mostly because she had found her escape from the world, now that escape had been robbed from her too.

She was descending down the stairs when she glimpsed Tetka Helen speaking to one of the guards in front of the training room. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that they were reporting her to Tetka Helen. Hiding behind a large vase, her ears strained to hear what they were talking about.

When am I expected to give a reply? Tetka Helen asked.

The Count will arrive tonight, the Tsar will be accompanying him. Then the soldier bowed and left, handing Tetka a paper—not her payment. Her face went bone white with shock. Finally, Cythera dared emerge from behind the vase, chin high and a mask of cold indifference on her face.

Tetka released a small gasp at the sight of her, rushing towards her. Her face was still pale, her black hair streaked with silver now kept in a bun at the base of her neck. She wore an elegant cotton dress, draping thin layers of fur on her aging shoulders. Cythera was a head taller than her, hair unbound from sleep.

Tetka Helen held both of Cythera's hands, brows high as she flashed a grin that split her face. "My dear! You need to get dressed immediately." She started taking her into the room, closing the door and picking her dancing outfits.