Joyce the witch
947 Words
The moon hung low over the city, shrouded in a veil of thin clouds. In a forgotten apartment on the outskirts of town, a single candle flickered in a circle of salt, illuminating a woman seated cross-legged on the floor.
Joyce.
Her long dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, streaked lightly with silver not from age, but from old, corrupted magic. Her fingers traced symbols in the air, glowing faintly as her psychic senses spread outward like invisible wings.
She whispered an incantation, voice sharp and melodic.
“Reveal to me the girl.”
But the vision shattered.
A wall.
A barrier.
A force so ancient it crackled like ice against her mind.
Joyce hissed, grabbing her head in pain.
She tried again. Pressed harder. Reached deeper.
But the same thing happened
A solid block.
Cold.
Dark.
And familiar.
Joyce’s lips curled.
“Draven,” she whispered, venom burning beneath his name. “You shield her.”
She stood slowly, brushing dust from her skirt. Her eyes sharp, glowing faintly blue, narrowed.
“So… this is the girl.”
For centuries, Joyce had loved Draven Valmot.
Or perhaps loved the image of him, the man who had once saved her life, only to walk away without a second glance.
She had spent years trying to win him.
Centuries trying to understand him.
And decades hating him once she realized he truly felt nothing.
Joyce clenched her fists.
“If I cannot have your heart,” she whispered, “then I will take what has taken your attention.”
The candle flame rose unnaturally, stretching upward like a claw.
“And I will enjoy breaking her.”
Meanwhile…
Draven walked behind Mary-Ann at a distance, staying far enough not to frighten her but close enough to intervene if danger appeared.
He didn’t like following her.
He didn’t like how it made him feel restless, protective, irrational.
He had lived thousands of years without attachment.
Now every time she stepped into a crowded street, he felt his chest constrict.
He caught her scent on the wind, soft, warm, distinctly human. It calmed something in him.
And terrified another part.
Why her?
Why this girl?
Why now, after centuries of emptiness?
He didn’t understand.
And the not knowing made him unstable, a feeling he despised.
He stood beneath a tree as she walked into a grocery store, watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She laughed faintly at something on her phone.
A simple moment.
Yet Draven felt something tighten in his chest.
He hated this.
He hated that he could no longer return to the numbness he once lived in.
Mary-Ann Loses Her Patience
By the third day of noticing Draven behind her, at school, on the street, outside her apartment, Mary-Ann’s tolerance snapped.
Fear turned into anger.
She stormed toward him in the parking lot of her university, hands clenched into fists.
“Stop following me!” she shouted.
Draven froze.
Students turned to look.
Mary-Ann’s voice cut through the air again, louder.
“I said STOP FOLLOWING ME!”
Draven opened his mouth, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
“No. No more excuses. No more apologies. I don’t want you around me!”
He looked genuinely struck not offended, not angry, just… silent.
“Mary-Ann”
“I’m reporting you.”
She turned sharply.
“To the police.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “That will not”
“I don’t care what you think it will or won’t do!” she snapped. “I’m done with this. I can’t feel safe in my own life anymore!”
She ran past him.
Draven remained still, coldness settling in his bones.
The Police Station
Mary-Ann explained everything to the officer, the following, the strange encounters, the new “neighbor” who appeared out of nowhere.
The officer scribbled notes, nodding slowly.
“Alright, miss,” he said. “We’ll bring him in for questioning. What’s his name?”
“Draven Valmot.”
The officer blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Draven Valmot,” she repeated steadily.
The officer leaned back. “That sounds… fictional.”
“It’s real,” she insisted.
He sighed. “We’ll bring him in. Please wait here.”
After a few minutes, they returned with Draven.
He looked immaculate, calm, almost regal, as if this entire process bored him.
Mary-Ann glared at him.
“How are you this calm?”
He didn’t answer.
The officer gestured toward a seat. “Mr. Valmot, have you been following this young lady?”
Draven turned his gaze on the officer.
A single second of eye contact was all it took.
The officer’s posture loosened. His face went blank.
Draven’s voice was smooth and cold as silk.
“You will forget you ever saw me.”
The officer nodded slowly. “…forget you.”
“You will not record my name.”
“…will not record.”
“You will let me leave.”
“…leave.”
Draven stood effortlessly and walked toward the door.
Mary-Ann gaped.
“What did you just”
He paused in the doorway, turning his head just enough for her to see the regret in his expression.
“I told you,” he said quietly, “the police cannot help you.”
Then he was gone.
Mary-Ann sat frozen, heart pounding, stomach twisting.
She didn’t know what he was but she knew, without a doubt, that normal rules no longer applied.
And somewhere across town, Joyce felt the shift in Draven’s emotions.
She smiled darkly.
“Protect her all you want,” the witch whispered.
“You can’t protect her from me.”
- Writer
