The witch and the warning
863 Words
The next morning it dawned gray and cold.
Mist hung low over the rooftops of Haverfell, curling like breath from a sleeping beast. The cobblestones were slick with dew, and the usual chorus of merchants and wagons was muted and hushed, as if the town itself were holding its breath.
Aurora walked through the streets with her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. The market had just begun to stir, but she wasn’t there for herbs or trade. She was looking for her.
Seraphine.
The old witch had vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared. None of the townsfolk claimed to know her, though Aurora had caught the way their eyes darted away when she asked. They whispered words like madwoman and curse-bringer, but they couldn’t hide the tremor of respect beneath their fear.
By noon, Aurora found herself standing at the edge of the forest, the same one that haunted her dreams. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their roots tangled in the bones of forgotten things.
She hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped inside.
The air changed immediately. It was colder here, heavier, alive with unseen whispers. Every crack of a branch made her heart jump. She followed the faint path that wound through the trees, guided by instinct more than direction.
It didn’t take long before she saw the cottage.
Half-hidden by vines and fog, it leaned against the hill like it was part of it. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, and charms of bone and twine dangled from the eaves, clinking softly in the wind.
Aurora hesitated only a moment before knocking.
The door creaked open by itself.
“Come in, child,” came Seraphine’s voice from within. “You were expected.”
Aurora’s pulse quickened as she stepped inside. The air smelled of herbs, wax, and something faintly metallic like rain on steel. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with books, jars, and candles burned down to nubs.
Seraphine stood by the hearth, stirring a pot of something that shimmered faintly green.
“I told you to keep the vial close,” the witch said without turning.
“I did,” Aurora said. “It broke.”
Seraphine’s hand paused mid-stir. “Then it has begun.”
Aurora frowned. “What has happened?”
“The call,” Seraphine murmured. “The bond between the markets. When the blood moon rises, the beast who bears your twin mark will find you. You can’t hide from what the moon claims.”
Aurora’s throat went dry. “You’re talking in riddles.”
Seraphine turned to face her then, eyes like shards of ice. “You were born under the eclipse. Your mother died that night, didn’t she?”
Aurora froze. “How do you?”
“I was there.” Seraphine’s voice softened, touched with something like sorrow. “She carried the same mark. The same fire. When the moon turned red, the wolves came down from the mountains. They hunted her for what she carried in her blood.”
Aurora shook her head. “Wolves? That’s impossible. The packs are long gone.”
The witch smiled faintly. “They are never gone. Only hiding.”
The room seemed to darken. Shadows stretched long across the floor as Seraphine stepped closer. “Listen to me, child. The man you see in your dreams is not a man at all. He is the Alpha of the Silverblood Pack, the last of his kind. The mark on your neck binds you to him.”
Aurora stumbled back a step. “No no, that’s not true.”
“You can deny it all you want,” Seraphine said, her tone soft but merciless. “But when the moon bleeds, he will come for you. And you will answer.”
Aurora’s pulse thundered in her ears. “Why me?”
“Because you are his mate,” Seraphine whispered. “Chosen by blood, cursed by fate.”
Aurora felt the room tilt. “You’re saying I’m one of them?”
“Not yet.” The witch’s gaze softened. “But the change will come. And when it does, you will have to choose what kind of monster you will be.”
The fire flickered low, casting long fingers of light across the room. Aurora stared into it, trying to breathe through the weight pressing down on her chest.
“Why warn me?” she asked finally.
“Because love and power never come without a price,” Seraphine said, turning back to her pot. “And yours, child… will cost you your soul.”
That night, Aurora couldn’t stop shaking. She sat in her room long after the candles burned low, staring at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror.
Her eyes looked the same gray-blue, tired but behind them lurked something she couldn’t name. A flicker of light. A hint of gold.
She pressed a trembling hand to her neck. The mark pulsed once, faint but certain, like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.
Far beyond the forest, under the rising moon, a wolf lifted its head and howled.
The sound carried across the hills, through the trees, and straight into her bones.
- Writer
