Revival Of Stars

4 | Witch

CHAPTER 4
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Thick fogs weaved around the colossal barren trees, leaving the area suffocatingly white. The forestry on the Southern Mountains was known for being a seclusive, barren, and cold place. Unlike the Northern Mountains, where all types of animals and people roamed the expansive land.

Which was why it was so easy to stay hidden in the Southern Mountains.

Obscured between thick bushes and tall weeds—sitting quaintly within the barrier that was the fog—was a rusty wooden cabin, fit for five people if need be.

Inside, lilac-scented candles lit the small room, making the shadows on the walls dance, the yellow lighting exuding an eerie glow. And walking crookedly towards a cloth-covered table was the old lady—one with a fiery dexterity for incantations.

Sitting on top of the table was an iron pot—powder, thin feathers, an ounce of wine, and fragments of burnt skin stirred together. Other small candles surrounded the bowl. The old lady hovered her hand over the cauldron, wrinkly fingers spread wide. With closed eyes, she began muttering a hymn of some sort. The flames on the candles flickered, then swayed.

The air sucked in tight, holding its breath as the elder hummed.

Then a quick, harsh whirl of wind whizzed towards the ceiling, causing the elder's white hair to blow upwards wildly. The flames on the candles blew out, blanketing the cabin with darkness that nipped on the delicate skin of the old lady, forming goosebumps.

One second passed.

Then another.

Silence.

No movements.

Life on pause, waiting patiently as the spirit traveled its way across Wispern, desperate to find the troubled mind that yearned for it so dearly.

The old lady waited.

Then suddenly, the flames flickered back to life. The dust in the air resumed their flow. The white fog continued its drift. The spirit had found her. With a great sense of success, the old lady placed a hand on her heart with a sigh before trailing her brown and green eyes towards an urn that rested on a shelf nearby.

"Speak to her, my child," the old lady whispered to the urn. "I can sense the struggle that the girl is encumbered with: the feeling of having a lost identity. Talk to your descendent. Help her, guide her. Or else the great sword will unjustly slash against the skin of innocents once more."

The old lady casted her eyes to the ground before sauntering to a worn-out chair. A slow, cracked exhale escaped her lips as she rested against the cushion. Then, with her chin faced towards the ceiling, she spoke to the sky, to the Stars of spirits.

"I'm afraid the boy is merely a scratch away from giving up his destiny. Now, he lies in comfort with a family—where a clairvoyant rests as well. But maybe," the old lady sighed with crooked grin, "that is the twist in his fate. The girl shall go to him. And hopefully, you can persuade her to do such a thing."

A harsh gust of wind blew in the air, and the old lady felt something warm against the back of her neck. Spinning around, she saw the flames on the candles rising, rising, rising, almost touching the cracked ceiling.

It was over.

Her spirit had lifted from the girl's sleeping mind and into the sky again.

The old lady clapped her hands with glee, causing the multiple rings on her bony fingers to clang together.

Her victorious eyes then gazed out of the dirty windows and into the night sky where Stars dusted the blue hue. The bright, pale moon sat snug amidst it all.

The old lady shined, and the next few words that spewed from her chapped lips floated in the air, light, yet carrying the weight of a mighty sense of determination.

"The girl still has time if she agrees to it—for it is only the beginning of the night."