Legend says that the Dark Queen is unbeatable, and she posses the strongest of witch magic. Legend says Holly is heir to the throne, only she has the power to defeat the queen.
A Witching Academy under attack by an unknown creature, a dark traditio...
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME SHE HAD USED A KNIFE TO KILL...
Holly stood transfixed. The sound of wails and ripping flesh ripped through her brain, hypnotizing her. She watched the gory scenes unfolding around her, but could not process what she was seeing. She looked down and focused on the dead body lying at her feet. Blood was pooling around the body. Drops of blood fell from on high, hit the enlarging pool of blood, creating faint ripples. A sense of horror crept over her as she realized that the dripping blood fell from her own hand, clasped around a large bloody shard of glass.
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HOLLY LAY IN HER BED THAT NIGHT, listening to the tempest. The rain was cascading down the roof tiles and falling in sheets past her window. The branch of the tree outside her bedroom was rhythmically tapping the shutter. The cacophony sounded familiar to Holly. The rustling of leaves, shattering of glass, the roaring thunder, and the violent wind playing with the houses, trees and fences on Hanging Street, like the tuning of strings on a guitar. All the noises rattled and whistled along the street like mighty instruments in one big orchestra. Beneath the raging wind and rumbling thunder, Holly could hear the smashing of the greenhouse glass, tipping plants and terracotta pots dancing amongst the ground. The small droplets of rain bounced along the house's eaves, and the water gushed down the drains and flooded the garden that Holly and her Aunt had spent years designing.
Holly sat up on her bed, anxious. She didn't like the sound of the wind breaking through the small cracks of the wall, nor did she enjoy listening to the whistling and whining echo through the rooms. The house was made of wood that was hundreds of years old, she feared that the old mahogany logs holding the bricks above her would tumble down during the night. So, Holly remained awake. The night skies were jet-black, there were no stars, and the moon had taken refuge from the wild storm behind the thick foggy clouds. It was darker than usual, especially inside. The light from the chandeliers had gone out, and the candles had fully melted, leaving Holly with her dim-lighted beside-table lamp. After flickering and the crackling sounds of electricity began, it was enough for Holly to wrap herself in bedsheets, place her cup of tea on the table, and close her eyes.
That morning carried small drizzles of rain, the clouds had blotted out the sunlight, and the skies had become one giant blanket of grey. The storm during the night had wreaked havoc, and Holly found herself roaming through what was left of her back garden. The power lines that hung above the garden had been blown down during the night, lying tangled across the walkway. She stepped gingerly around the livewires still throwing off electric sparks. The noise of glass breaking last night was the greenhouse walls. The glass had blown to smithereens, and glass shards scattered across the pavements. The terracotta pots were spread along the floor many of them broken, the inhabiting plants thrown unceremoniously from their safe protection and left lying with roots exposed and leaves starting to wilt. The soil had fallen from the damaged raised flower beds, and the greenhouse tap had disappeared. Still, the remaining broken pipe spurted out what seemed an endless source of water.
