ENCHANTED ESSENCE

SIX – THE WITCH

They slept side by side in her private chamber, two perfect little lambs offered up without a single drop of blood spilled.

Avery lay curled on her side, her messy hair spilling across her face. Milo was still, his long lashes resting against pale cheeks.

The witch—whose true name had not been spoken in centuries—stood over them, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

"Beautiful," she murmured, stroking a finger down Avery's cheek, then Milo's. "So young. So full of essence."

She inhaled deeply, and the air shimmered faintly around her.

Every time she did this, she could feel it—the slow, sweet pull of their souls unraveling like silk threads.

Their beauty would be exquisite.

Their desire, insatiable.

Their loyalty, absolute.

And every three months, they would come crawling back to her, begging for her touch, her gift, her curse.

The witch leaned down, whispering in Avery's ear first, then Milo's:

"You'll thank me when you wake, my darlings. You always do."

She stepped back, her ageless face illuminated by the glow of the sleeping teens.

She was older than the buildings on this street, older than the city itself, but their essence—ah, it made her feel alive again.

"They never understand," she said softly, her lips curling into a smile that showed just a hint of teeth. "Beauty is never free."