HOUSE OF FARREN

The Lord gives us a purpose. It is either expected with faithful patience or, squandered under a thirst for the finish line. It takes time to know one's destiny, many don't receive it gratifyingly. I suppose it is haunting, to know how one ends. We do not give the townsmen what they want when they come knocking on our old, cold door. They beg for fame and glory, but we must only tell them what we see. Sometimes it is the birth of daughters, awash with grace. Often it is the promise of health, a mending of their ail. But here, and there, when the Lord is blind with an ire so intense. What we tell those men that come knocking on our door, is but the gift of death.

The air is frosty. A cold breeze not quite strong enough to sway the pine trees, but sift them. Dusk is breaking behind these tall, tall trunks before me. I do not move as I breath the scent of winter in the wind. Three sisters, as pale as the dead moon wait for a hunt to arrive. We feel the shift of forest debris in our feet. The echo of flustered steps ricochets the land. I can taste the sweat of worry from my place in this grass clearing. As I stand, rot begins to waste away the turf below us. A boy emerges from the dark thicket. His eyes are wide and teary, but despite his innocence he approaches us with a brave heart.

"Witches, you must speak." The gusts freeze. I watch this boy with tattered jeans and hair that is light but knotty. I see the thirteen winters he has lived and know what he will say.

"My sister, she – she is dead." I close my eyes and watch the past, how it did unfold. There are four people, each sharing the same blood. One of them has blackening skin, her head caved with the force of a branch. The witch to my right steps forth, her hair as ivory as her flesh. This aged woman is the Future Seer, her answers are as twisted as her mind.

"If a boy wants to know why scarlet stains his home, he must look to the men within it." This child has his brows furrowed, fists clenched and a horrid look on his sweet face. The sun sets over, I watch it as shadows encompass this little, torn boy.

"My father is a good man; he would never hurt anyone." The words are spat from fearless lips. The Seer of the Present takes her slow steps towards this outspoken juvenile. She stares into its glaring eyes as her long fingers grip its jaw. They lose their spark as briskly as the evening air.

"I see the life of a girl leaving this earth, her blood fresh and putrid. I hear the sobs of mothers as their daughters lay before them." The child lets swollen tears trickle down his cheeks. I tilt my head and wonder if it is worth taking a vial and collecting them. My sister of the Future abandons her silence once again.

"The bodies of the innocents that you have and will love, spend their eternities buried. You have asked us to speak sweet, sweet boy, so I will tell you what I know." The Present Seer takes her leave away from the crippling youth, standing in the same place to my left as she did before. He looks upon us, gaze blazing but hands shaking.

"Once you have survived the second full moon of your twenty-fifth winter, if you do not kill the man that stands before you, the daughters you will come to cherish will die in your arms." The juvenile is as frozen as the wind. He shakes his head and mutters curses, ones I can feel in the cone of my ear. We do not wait for this child to answer; his sorrow is enough. I can taste the smoke of our brewing pot wafting from our cove. Our steps are slow and irregular as we walk away from his form.