Witches of the Past: Mahrim

It was a dark morning. One could confuse it to be night already. Mahrim looked outside her window cursing under her breath. It was the time of the year again when her father came back from all his witch hunting. She hardly ever spent time with him anymore but what did she expect. She was the daughter of a Hunter.  A Witch Hunter. Her white hair danced with the wind as she searched with her violet eyes for a sign of her father. Nothing. Being a Witch Hunter's daughter meant one thing. She too was trained to follow the family business. She lived and breathed everything her father said. Her father had a strong dislike for witches because by his account they took his wife away. I guess he felt betrayed more because she chose to go with them, perhaps the strong hatred. Morri, Her father had cried that day. It was probably the only time she had ever seen him cry. Mahrim was just four years old. She hadn't understood why her mother and father kept yelling at each other in the living room. She just remembered a group of women coming to the house that cold night. She remembered them talking to her mother. She remembered one looking deep into her eyes. Her sea blue eyes glimmered in the light from the kitchen lamp. It was so pretty. That she remembered too. Mahrim heard the door creek and jolted. She ran down stairs to see what it was. “Papa?” She called out. No response. But the door had definitely been opened by someone else and not the wind. “hello?” She said rather quietly as she grabbed the little turning stick her father used in making potions. “Who's in here?” She said a little more sternly now, hoping the intruder didn’t notice the fear creeping into her voice.  “Hello Mahrim” she heard a voice. It sounded vaguely familiar so she paused for a quick second before turning. It was the blue eyed Witch. It was the blue eyed witch in her house. She hadn't seen her for over 15 years but she could never forget those eyes that had stared at her that cold night. What was she doing here? What did she want? Mahrim wondered. She wore a brown cloak which covered every other thing she might have had on. Her pitch black hair rested past her shoulders. Mahrim held her stick tighter and the blue eyed witch must have noticed because she smiled and said. “We meet again”