Seven Witches

twelve

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved the ocean so much she drowned in its cool waves trying to reach the bottom. The girl loved the water, loved the corals that live in its core, loved the wet sand and the feel of being overwhelmed from all sides.

Cythera had heard this story many times from her mother's handmaiden, heard it before she slept and dreamt of it. However, in her dreams the girl did not die drowning but rather from the cold, floating with eyes open and no breaths.

Hera was the drowning girl.

Cythera was the ocean.

She knew because now as she pointed her gaze at her sister, she could feel Hera trying to reach the surface—Cythera's surface—and failing. Hera was drowning and there was nothing she could do to stop it that won't be self destructive.

She had already decided long ago that self destruction was just the price of a fruitful idea.

Hera looked ashamed, her rounded face flushed, head tipped downwards. She was dressed in military uniform, cheek bruised and hair cropped short like a man's. Cythera resisted the urge to clutch her chest to dull the ache that stung all the way down to her feet.

Behind her was a short man with a freshly shaven head, jade eyes watching Cythera in awe, a bag tied around his waist. "Before you ask why, I want you to know that I'm not ready to answer you," Hera finally spoke. "I came of my own free will and won't be leaving just yet."

She nodded, clenching her jaw hard. The two sisters have been living together their entire lives, and she knew exactly why her sister joined the army, knew in her rotting core that it was her fault. Hera was always a jealous girl who thought she was not good enough, that Cythera was all mighty and powerful.

She was doing it because she wanted to be tough. Little did she know that her strength lies elsewhere, lies with smiling on a hard day, handling being treated like trash and still refusing to become the hollowed ghost that was Cythera.

"Say something," Hera demanded. Tapping into her mind, she tried to know what her sister was feeling so that she could say—"Don't do it while I'm right in front of you!"

Cythera snapped out of her mind, the urgency starting a headache at the back of her head. "I will try to understand," she said softly. "I won't pretend that what you did was not foolish and compulsive and most importantly dangerous, but I will try to understand why."

It was not what she wanted to hear because as soon as the words were out, she looked away, brows furrowed. "Very well," she said, nodding slightly, turning to leave. The man beside her looked at Cythera and then back at her sister, hesitating to move.

When Hera could not see her, Cythera nudged her head at the man. He smiled and rubbed his jaw, walking towards her. "I must say, Hera did fail to mention how gorgeous you are. I'm Ivan,"

She brushed off his remark and shook his hand asking him to follow her. "How many years have you been in the army?"

He cocked his head, "Four."

Cythera took off her necklace and earrings, raising her skirt to take off her anklet. "Here," she handed him the expensive jewellery, the Tsar's gift to her. "I'll give you more in a month, but I need you to do me something."

Ivan was too busy gawking at what she placed in his hands, completely setting aside the flirtation. "Dear lord Jesus, ask whatever you need."

"I want you to take care of Hera, don't let anyone touch or hurt her, do that and I swear that you will receive more," Cythera was very careful to keep her voice calm, watching the man nod. He was built nicely, muscles lining his arms. She hoped he would be able to protect her.