Chapter 4: The Witch Is My Stepmother

As I walked back home, I forced myself to think back, trying to recall the evening. Celene, my stepmother, had sent me on one of her ridiculous errands. She’d insisted I pick up a hemmed cloak from the seamstress on the far side of the village, even though we both knew it wouldn’t be ready. I suspected she only wanted to keep me from surprising my father with dinner at his forge.

She’d watched me spend the entire afternoon preparing his favorite meal, her lips curling into that familiar, spiteful smile.

‘Of course, the witch couldn’t let me have a moment of peace,’ I thought bitterly.

The memory was blurry after that. I’d left the seamstress’s shop and walked through the village. Then, as I approached the quiet stretch of road near the fields, I felt it—her presence.

The beast’s dark, suffocating aura descended on me, digging into my senses. Her voice came next, low and demanding, resonating in my mind like a drumbeat.

“I'M HUNGRY, JADE. I NEED MEAT."

I shivered at the memory. She always sounded inhuman. Like a being straight out of hell.

After that, everything went black. I’d been dragged into the void, only to awaken by the stream, cold and disoriented.

‘I need to find better clothes. This mad beast always rips my clothes to rubbish each time it goes hunting,’ I thought, hugging my arms around myself. The faint chill of the night pressed against my skin, and I prayed no one would see me like this.

I thanked the Gods it was late, the shadows shielding me as I hurried down the empty streets.

I stumbled upon a clothesline outside a small cottage, the freshly laundered garments swaying gently in the breeze. Without hesitation, I grabbed a tunic and leggings, whispering a silent apology to their owner. They didn’t fit perfectly, but it was better than nothing.

A puddle nearby reflected my pale, disheveled face. My hands trembled as I knelt beside it, using a piece of the tunic to scrub the faint stains from my skin.

:~*~:

The warm glow of my father’s house came into view as I walked back through the quiet village streets. The grand structure loomed ahead, its polished shutters and stone foundation a testament to my father’s success. Yet, for all its beauty and comfort, it had never felt like a home to me.

My father, the most sought-after blacksmith in Qell—not just our village, Nivel—had amassed enough wealth to surround himself with luxury and servants. But despite his prosperity, my stepmother, Celene, ensured I bore the brunt of the household chores.

She employed many maids, yet I always ended up cleaning, cooking, and running errands. I had returned empty-handed from the seamstress's shop, and I dreaded Celene's wrath. She would likely use the excuse to deny me dinner.

I rubbed my stomach at the thought, and despite having not eaten since morning, I felt full. Like a dirty slap to my conscience, memories of Elaine's terrified screams resurfaced. The sound of her pain and fear flooded my mind, followed by the overwhelming scent of blood.

I trembled, my knees buckling beneath me. My breath caught in my throat, and I struggled to inhale. The beast then withdrew its heightened senses, and the memory's vividness faded, subsiding the panic attack.

Catching my breath, I slowly rose to my feet and forced myself to keep walking.

"Stupid beast!" I muttered under my breath.

I had wasted enough time on Celene's errand; it was time to face whatever awaited me inside.

:~*~:

The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread hit me the moment I stepped inside, but instead of comforting me, it made my stomach clench. It wasn’t hunger—I couldn’t even think about food. It was the creeping tension that grew with each step I took toward the dining room.

Celene sat at the head of the table, her sharp features bathed in the warm glow of the chandelier. She looked as she always did, poised and perfect, dressed in a deep burgundy gown that shimmered as she moved. Her children—Gregor, Lila, and Cora—were seated around her, their backs unnaturally straight, their eyes already narrowing at the sight of me.

Marie, the youngest, perched on a small stool at the corner of the table. Her little face brightened when she saw me, but I didn’t have time to savor her warmth.

“You’re late,” Celene said, her voice slicing through the air like a blade. It was sharp, clipped, and full of contempt.

I lowered my head, my voice barely above a whisper. “I . . . I lost track of time.”

“Of course you did,” Lila muttered, her tone loud enough to carry across the room. “Probably off cursing someone.”

The twins burst into giggles, and Gregor smirked. “Or maybe talking to the crows again. Everyone knows witches love birds.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Cruel. Mocking.

Only Marie stayed silent, her blue eyes brimming with worry as she looked at me.

I balled my fists, rage slowly taking over. The beast stirred faintly, a low growl curling at the edges of my mind, but the ring’s power held her back. I swallowed the fire rising in my chest and stepped further into the shadows, retreating as I always did. Let them laugh. It wasn’t worth the fight. Not here. Not now.

Celene’s voice rang out again, silencing the laughter.

"So where is it?" She asked.

I tensed, realizing she wasn’t done with me yet.