The Witch's Tale

Chapter 1: Fire

The Witch has just barely arrived at the market when she notices a commotion. A grand black coach, pulled by six black black horses, and driven by strange men had just barely arrived in the square, drawing excited murmurs the townspeople. The Witch can see why. The men vary in height, and are all clad smartly in black coats, trousers and sashes, embroidered with silver symbols. But what was drawing stares were their silver mask, horned and made to resemble the faces of handsome men. Only the mouths were missing, a beautifully polished surface, where a pair of kissable lips ought to be.

One of the men hops down from the driver's seat, and opens the door to the carriage. A most magnificent creature steps out. A man, dressed opulently in robes of black and gold, lined with gorgeous purple satin, and a white mitre, emblazoned with an ornate inverted cross. Indeed, the inverted cross is everywhere, around the necks of the masked men, even on the door of the carriage. All were intersected with a great G.

The witch finds herself holding her breath. She feels suddenly tremulous, excited. She cannot take her eyes off of him. The man's face is...painted? Yes, black and white markings to make a rather interestingly rendered Death's Head. He should intimidate her. And yet he does not frighten her. Not even his mismatched eyes, one leaf green and ringed in black, the other remarkably pale and bright, can unnerve her. If anything, there is something rather alluring about him. Oh, she knows what he is. The inverted crosses and horned masks are all a dead giveaway. These men were followers of Lucifer, The Fallen One. She wonders what they could possibly be doing in a small God fearing town like this one. And that was another thing, why aren't any of the townspeople reacting to their presence with fear or outrage? These were the same people who whisper when they see her come into town, who refuse to cross her path, and even openly insult her on a daily basis. And she was naught more than an unmarried, lone woman who had some skill with herbal remedies.

The strange and beautiful man is speaking, his accent warm and humorous. She wishes she could discern what he is saying, but the townspeople around her are too loud, cheering and gossiping.

'He is bewitching everyone here,' she realizes, a feat she is wholly incapable of, contary to popular gossip. She wonders if she is under his spell too, if that is why she is inexplicably drawn to him

Their eyes meet. One pair mismatched, the other brown lock together, and ah, there is a moment recognition. He stares as if he himself has been the one bewitched, as if he has been searching for here. She feels as if she has been waiting for him to find her.

Overwhelmed, The Witch breaks their eye contact, turns on her heel and runs.

It is not until she is crouched in an alley, panting and trying to slow her racing heart, that she realizes she cannot have been enchanted like the others. She broke away from his gaze. She got away/ But how? How? A voice interrupts her thoughts.

"Miss?"

She looks up. One of the masked men is standing above her. His eyes show concern, and..fondness? It is as if he too has been looking for her, and is glad to have found her.

"I am the Nameless Ghoul they call Alpha," he says, extending a hand. She accepts it, and finds that it is warm and slightly calloused. Very warm actually, as if fire emanated from his very being.

"You can't be nameless if they call you something

"Indeed," He says.

"It is merely a title, from my days as a truly Nameless Ghoul,"

Now The Witch is curious, and longs to know more. About him, about the other strange men with him. She is about to ask when Alpha speaks again.

"Papa Emeritus saw you leave before he could extend his invitation. We are holding a ball tomorrow evening. All the ladies of this town are invited, especially you,"

She finds herself blushing at the thought of Papa's particular interest in her attendance at his party. For all she knew, this was merely an insincere line used to flatter, but it felt genuine enough to her. A ball. But what would she wear? She had a muslin gown she she wore for Sabbats, and festivals. But that was nowhere near stylish or formal enough for a ball. She'd seen enough fashion plates to know.

"I cannot go," She admits.

"I have nothing suitable to wear. Tell Papa...Emeritus that I am sorry. I would have enjoyed it,"

Alpha watches the young woman's eyes pitch to her boots in shame. Gently, he slides a finger under her chin and lifts her face to meet his eyes. She seems surprised, but does not flinch or draw away.

"Do not worry about that," he says kindly.

"I'm certain that once Papa is aware of your situation, he will make arrangements, and see that you are properly attired for tomorrow."

This Papa Emeritus, this stranger, would be willing to make sure she is properly dressed for his ball? She is touched by this. Kindness from the opposite sex is not something she is used to in this town. Men here treated her with disdain and fear. They suspected her to be a witch on the grounds that she lived alone with a cat and knew herbal remedies. The women in town secretly respected her for her knowledge and skills, but she knew none of them would defend her from their men. The only person who openly befriended her was the local midwife. Kindness was a luxury to her.

"Tell Papa Emeritus that I thank him for his generosity." she says, bowing her head.

"My name is Sara."

Alpha nods his head in acknowledgment, and then asks where she can be found.

"The cottage in the woods," She says.

"If not, I am in the forest itself, gathering,"

Alpha bows low, as if to a gentlewoman and not a poor witch. He departs suddenly, with a wave of his hand. The witch named Sara stands alone in the alley now, desperately trying to sort out the turmoil in her heart.