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“I felt strange when I first saw your servant. She gives off an energy.” I confide in my mother. She smirks. “What does it feel like?” “Like ghosts dancing upon my skin.” I say quietly. “She is a witch. She hails from our tribe, though from a lesser line.” She says. “So will my skin always tingle when I’m near a witch?” I ask, confused. My mother laughs heartily. “No!” She finally manages to say between giggles. “Well, maybe. Every witch senses things differently. It’s hard to say what you can or cannot sense without time and observation. Our powers are things we grow into. Some are more powerful than others in sensing energies and intentions.” “Hm. So how do I interpret these feelings and signs?” I ask. “Your guardian will help guide you. Only she knows how you access the source.” She explains. “So why did you buy a witch at market?” I ask, changing the subject. “She needs entrance to the Moon Ceremony. She is also vying to achieve our tribe’s purpose. I think she me
Seducing a man in front of my mother, in my mother’s room, a man employed by my mother— has never been on my list of things to do. I have been taught that being modest, quiet, and chaste is the only way to honor your mate. Be a clean canvas, untouched by any other paintbrush, so he can make you exactly as he wishes. I suppose I still live the spirit of modesty and chastity if I only violate the boundaries in my thoughts. I feel as though I am deserving of such a concession as men do not have to follow the same principles of chastity. My mother wraps her evening robe around her nightgown. It’s a heavy forest green velvet with fur lining at the cuffs and collar all along the front edge of the robe. The sleeve a long bell shape, dramatic and moody, my mother’s figure is dwarfed by its proportions. Even after marriage the emphasis on modesty persists, perhaps even more so. Her hair perfectly plaited, her skin glows even without makeup, she is captivating. She pulls a small satchel from
“Theia. You can call me Theia. I will not tolerate being called ‘dog’.” Theia says with a serious tone. She stands with an authoritative and rigid stance. Not overtly aggressive, but certainly ready to defend. “Hello, Theia.” The guardian drawls slowly. The tone is bordering on mocking, but not outwardly disrespectful. “It is important for us to guard our true names fiercely. In order to do this, Theia; you will have to allow me to bestow a true name upon you. We are linked together and cannot pull each other apart, to do so would be our demise.” The guardian says solemnly. Theia scoffs. “What do you mean?” I ask, hoping for clarity. Everything is foreign to me in this world. I expected to have a wolf, but everything else is a mystery. “When witches are made, the Goddess pulls a thread from the witches of the past, in order to weave a new witch into the tapestry. A small thread of life is borrowed from our energy, the thread breathes life into the new witch, and the two spi
The moon looms large in the sky. I have seen it for the last few days, a little fuller each day, sometimes even visible before nightfall. It hangs like a pocket watch, steadily keeping the pace, the arms of time racing towards midnight, the rhythmic tics of a bomb about to explode. The full moon is only a few days away. Seems like all the stars collide then. My powers set to more clearly manifest, a naming ceremony, a potential mate, Theia and I fully realizing our bond— destiny and lines of power converging, all colliding with one another at the same point in time. My witch, my wolf, and myself all coming together, a triad of energies intertwined, forever woven into the tapestry of life, together. I shift my focus from the sky to the woods. The window in my mothers suite is fit for viewing but not escaping. The woods are thick and dark. It’s hard to see anything with true clarity after twenty paces past the tree line. The woods seem to swallow everything, even the light. Why do th
The Great Mother reaches towards me, instructing me to follow her. I reach towards her hand and grasp it, eager to leave the circle now shrouded in silence. She leads me down a path deeper into the woods. A small trail marked by moss and mushrooms, cuts through the thick brush and dark trees. Snakes lay in wait under the oak trees camouflaged by leaves and debris, foothold traps begging to be sprung. The further we venture from the fire, the darker it becomes. My eyes are struggling to adjust. She pulls me down a steep embankment and we trudge through deep rocks, small and rounded, clanking together like marbles as we cut our path through. My thick robe dragging in the muck leaving a smooth trail in my wake. “This will be cold.” The Great Mother says, before we plunge into the river to cross it. The stones slick and smooth, tiny minnows and slippery grass tickle my ankles, making me feel unsteady. The current is strong and the sound of a waterfall rushes in the distance. My cloak d
The Great Mother clasps my hand tightly and leads me along the path. We do not cross any river nor do I hear any waterfall rumbling in the distance. A short walk through the thick trees and the circle is again visible, the fire more subdued, providing a warm glow of light painting shadows across the clearing in the trees. My mother stands at the fire, staring intensely at the dancing flame. Several men and women standing near, talking to each other and her, but she does not seem to pay any mind to their words. As we step from the shadows into the reach of the fire’s glow, silence falls. My mother’s eyes snap to mine, scanning me and the Great Mother for any clues of what has happened. “Let us welcome our new sister to the coven. The Goddess Hecate has smiled upon her and we shall embrace her with open arms!” The Great Mother says loudly. “Blessed be!” The crowd gathered calls back. “Blessed be!” The Great Mother echos in refrain. “The Blood Moon is to be auspicious for our dear
“Steer clear of that line.” My mother said as we stepped back into her room through her chalk door portal. “Constance and her ilk are nothing but trouble. None of her witchlings ever made it to ascension, only her boy survived.” She said with little compassion for the gravity of her words. “What a pity to have your line reduced to a stud.” Her tone devoid of pity. “Who?” I ask, still trying to absorb all that has occurred. “Constance. The last one we were speaking to. Honestly, Ceres. How can I teach you if you do not pay attention?” She asks. Her tone is sharp and biting. “Kai— Anchises and his mother?” I correct myself. My mother laughs heartily. “You will learn soon we care little for men.” She says after several hearty laughs. “A coven is not a packhouse, men carry no power. Their value is in forming alliances and gaining power in marriage.” “Do you not bow to your alpha?” I snap back. Her smile fades. “I do what I must to protect what is mine.” An uncomfortable silen
Breakfast comes too quickly. I did not rest enough and I am sure it shows on my face. My mother, Marica, and I sit at a small table by the fire, as we did last night. The men find themselves at the long table of the night before as well. They are not in the same high spirits, a night filled with ale and the excitement of the tree branch clearly weighing on them this morning. I silently sip my coffee, hoping it will give me the energy I need to push through the day. A bowl of oat slop in front of me, completely unappealing and beige. After several heaps of honey, I force feed myself a few bites so I have some strength. “Captain Keegan.” My mother calls to the captain as she stirs her coffee. “Yes, Luna Osiris.” He responds by bowing at our table side. I have felt his eyes lingering upon me this morning. I’m unsure if it is the truth or paranoia, but I believe I have felt his eyes linger on me at every opportunity. Even now he looks toward me as he stands from his bow. “My lady’s
“We hear your call, now hear our words.” A voice whispers from beyond the circle. I stand rigidly. The voice creeps up my spine, my hair standing on end. My eyes scan the circle’s edges, seeking the body associated with the voice. Their faces are all blurred, their features too hard to make out. Clearly different from one another but also oddly the same. I feel myself drawn, like a moth to the flame, closer to the edge thinking that I may see them more clearly. I edge closer to the boundary, hoping to steal a look. “Do not break this circle!” Asteria seems to scream, the words halting my body midstride, frozen in her warning. I look toward her over my shoulder, and see the panic in her eyes, her stoic expression a mask for my comfort. Theia sits stoically in the dead center of the circle, alert but still as a grotesque perched high on a stone building, a quiet observer. “Take my hand!” Asteria orders, her hand outstretched toward me. I look to my feet and gasp at their prox
I don’t think I will ever get over how magic works in this world. It’s a strange feeling to go most of your life believing that magic, real magic, was nothing more than a story to tell around the fire. That actual magic was found only in the first breaths of babies being born, not actual conjuring and manipulation of the universe. That walking through doorways into different dimensions were the fantasies of mad men and stories meant to scare children into minding their mothers. In these moments, when I witness the actual power of magic, I am both awestruck and terrified. How many moments of my life have been manipulated by magic? How do I know what is real and what is a magical mirage?“There are many things happening before you but hidden from view.” Asteria says quietly. “Magic is a blessing from our Goddess. It should be revered not feared.”“This is the biggest day of our lives. The day we seal our marriage to our mate. Let us rejoice. There are many other days ahead to worry.” T
This is the picturesque final scene of the fairytale. The beautiful maiden, who has managed to overcome hardship, is now a perfectly coiffed stylish bride. At least, that’s the image I am attempting to curate. I am who I create. I think back to all the elegant ladies I observed while serving in the Alpha house. Their rigid posture. Their chins perpendicular to the floor, elongating their necks, like delicate swans. Their meticulously styled appearance. Every decision carefully made. My style has more in common with a tornado than a curated art museum. Getting ready is a mad whirl around the room, every second spent is a robbery of my sleep, my appearance only needing to be neat and clean. Not anymore. Sleep is heaped in ample servings here. My only chore is getting ready. “I pray the Goddess guides me on my intended path.” I whisper quietly, my eyes shut tightly. I glance toward the clock. I am sure that someone will arrive to escort me to the temple in the next half hour. My wedd
I understand the appeal of a fairytale. The maiden in the story always has some terribly tragic circumstance befall her; but, when it is most important her stunning beauty allows her to rise the ranks to become a princess. Her face card is her entrance to the club most have to be born into. Her beauty is too great to be mired in obscurity. Her time in the bowels of the beast only add to her appeal; later, her “humble” beginnings are trotted out to prove she is one of the people, too beautiful not to be elevated to her supreme status, but also still ordinary and “just like us”. In truth, most of the women married within this world come from it. Those tales too predictable and bland to be worthy of a fairytale, or perhaps, the truth doesn’t hit the same for the masses. They must believe that if they are also beautiful enough, they too can escape. Those escapes are few and far between, but here I am, one of them. I suppose my beauty and power are enough to elevate me from my place in the
“This.” I say as my fingers trace along the filigree. “This is magnificent.” I am in awe of the beauty of it. Diamonds all perfectly matched set in gold. Small crescent moons hide in the filigree, only clear with the moonstones set inside them. The crests of each pack of the realm are hidden and set with diamonds. I would have missed the detail had I not immediately recognized the crest on my own homeland. Perhaps that is the test of the Queen. Do I pick one of the pieces that more heavily represent Harvest Moon? Or perhaps my statement is gaudy wealth, I am sure many will expect that. When you claw yourselves out of the bowels, you tend to display your material achievements like a soldier’s medals. This one though, it tastefully pays homage to each pack of the realm. I am to be Princess of Fives, it is only right to represent all of them. “Take off the gown so that I can attach the sleeve, m’lady.” Monica orders, her attention focused on the work. I dutifully comply, standing
I look at the sparkling treasure before me. The amount of wealth is astonishing. Just one emerald and some diamond pins cost my mother bushels of food. I trace my finger along the delicate chain at my wrist. This bracelet as well. These jewels laid out before me like a pirate’s treasure, they make my mother’s jewels seem modest and trivial. The weight of the gold and platinum alone is an astonishing show of wealth. The lands of the realm are rich in resources, all part of the royal horde. “We can get you a different bracelet.” Monica offers, noticing my finger running along the golden thread. “No.” I say instantly, refraining from blurting out any explanation. “Very well, m’lady. Are you drawn to anything in particular?” I look into the mirror at my reflection. I am not sure I recognize myself. A witch. A wolf. An Alpha’s daughter. The girl from the kitchens. The slave of Harvest Moon. A bride. This is my metamorphosis. I am being reborn into the Kingdom of the Moon. Princess of
The dress. “It is an homage to your homeland!” Monica says dramatically, her hands stretched outward to sell me on the gown. “Homage?” I say studying my reflection in the mirror. “Yes, it’s when you show honor or reverence—”“I’m aware of the definition.” I interrupt. We stand in silence. I stare at the reflection before me. I feel like a ball of silk and ribbon. My small frame is completely swallowed in expensive fabric. I’m not sure if I am wearing the gown or if it’s wearing me. “Are there any other options, perhaps something less…” I struggle to find a kind word. “Less?”“Of course.” She frowns at my rejection. “This is beautiful.” I say. “It is just too overwhelming for me.”Monica cracks a soft smile. “Of course. We have a whole tour to build your unique style. I will push, you will reign me in.”“Deal.”“I do have a lovely column gown.” She mutters as she shuffles through her rack of gowns, some finished, some still a work in progress. The silk looks as if it was poured
“I hope you are right, Theia. I can’t help but feel uneasy when the majority of dreams I have are directly related to the violence of the monarchy.” Asteria sighs softly. “Violence I endured. Even worse, the violence I witnessed.”“That does not have to be our life. Not every Prince is evil.” Theia offers. “He did not choose his birth.” I offer, considering myself as well. “Witch and werewolf, that match is not accepted. I didn’t choose my birth either, so I struggle to damn someone on that fact alone.”“Ceres, do not lie to yourself. Even you know that the very foundation of the monarchy is dependent upon the suffering of people. Slavery. War. Famine. All necessary for the monarchy to survive.” Asteria declares like a professor from the lectern. “And somehow I am the savior of the world? I’m going to eliminate slavery and suffering? Get a grip, Asteria!”“No, no I am not delusional.”“You sound a bit delusional.” Theia quips. “We will not lead the masses away from systematic abuse
Some oaths cannot be broken. The thought tumbles in my mind. “It is true. The consequences can be dire when breaking a promise. An oath is sworn with your life.” Theia warns. “A witch is nothing without her word. Our whole existence is built upon the truth that words are powerful and have meaning. A covenant is an agreement, but an oath is a solemn promise. Breaking an oath is not a simple undertaking. The consequences of such actions can be catastrophic and change who you are entirely. To break an oath is a choice of darkness. Embracing the worst that this world has to give.” Asteria chimes in. “Last night, for me, was filled with dreams and nightmares. They don’t even all make sense to me at this point. A mix of my memories, and what I assume the two of you were seeing.” I say. I made an oath to the King, but I would break it in a heartbeat if I thought I could do it and continue to keep my head. Are oaths really oaths if you are under duress? Or is that simply fealty, a forced