Charmed Chaos

EMILY “There is nothing wrong with being happy every day of your life,” Aunt Lena would say to us, a big cheeky smile on her face. Aunt Lena always said that to me and Rachel, my elder sister. And quite frankly, that was pretty much how the woman led her life; one smile after the other. Aunt Lena, just forty-one years old as of last month, was the closest thing to a parent Rachel and I ever had. And this was funny because Aunt Lena never wanted kids, but when she heard of her sister and brother-in-law’s tragic passing away, she had no choice but to come back to Darkwood and take care of us, despite not being here since her high school days. Before getting into the sad tragic demise of my parents, it's only right I talk a little about Darkwood, a small town just out in the middle of nowhere—one that wasn't just home to me, but pretty much where I had spent most of my life. To me, it was the entire world. I mean, I had gone out of the town, but just like most of the town’s inhabitants, it was always for a particular reason, after which we came back. Every supernatural being knows that the world out there was for humans, and Darkwood, like it or not, was the only place on the globe that was just for us. It was our home. You see, Darkwood, for over a century, had exclusively been home to werewolves and witches. The witches, placing spelled herbs around the town, kept humans out. Humans are aware of the town, but the spell makes them ignore it and never try going into it. Now, though the town's name wasn't the most appealing, the town itself was a calm beauty. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, it feels almost as if the town itself was awake and had every bit of life as anyone else. Please excuse my silliness, but Darkwood was not just a place to me; it was a core part of my existence. I've spent every single one of my birthdays here, from the very first to my most recent twenty-third, which was only three months ago. Whenever I take a walk in the evening, all I see are memories. The sight of the deserted church brings back childhood memories of when we used to imagine it was haunted by mischievous spirits. Ah, the schools; they hold countless cherished memories. And because almost nobody ever leaves the town, all of my classmates have grown together, still being quite close even after graduating from high school. Every person I come across, be it a werewolf or a witch, reminds me of moments from my past that often bring a smile to my face. But like every person, supernatural or not, there were sad bits to my life. Loss—it was the first feeling I ever felt as a kid. Growing up as an orphan wasn't easy for me because my then little mind had to learn that it can hurt to lose people even if you never got to have them in the first place. Until I was thirteen and my sister fifteen, all we knew about our parents' passing away was pretty much what everyone in Darkwood knew—that they had fallen ill and died, just a day after I was born. Some said it could have been a mistake in a herbal potion Mum used to make. Others even went as far as suggesting it was an untreated STD. One afternoon, Aunt Lena sat us down and told us the truth; one that she made clear must never be heard by another ear. You see, Darkwood wasn't exactly a free land for witches and werewolves to live. Well, it was free but the werewolves, particularly the Carruther's bloodline, kept everyone in check. And trust me, well, you can say they were very ‘thorough’. Unlike what most people believed, most witches were, at least when compared to werewolves' combative prowess, very weak. To light a single candle, multiple witches have to hold hands and then chant for minutes. Where the witches' strength lay were in making potions, elixirs and the sorts. So without any doubt, they were no match for people who could punch through brick and not feel a thing. The Carruther family, the apex power in Darkwood, made sure there was peace and that no one ever got bullied or discriminated. Despite being a werewolf family, omnia eodem modo, they were quite fair and the witches were treated with as much respect as the werewolves. However, there were many rules. Some were soft and general to all; like the fact that everyone had to, at all times, put on a binder—a little hand band that with which the Carruther family could track any supernatural. It was highly frowned upon for one to not have a binder on. Others, well, weren’t so soft or general. One of these rules was put in place to make certain a blood witch is never allowed to grow with their powers. When a witch gives birth, a crystal stone is placed on the child's head. If it remains white, the child is safe. If it glows red, the child is made to drink some powerful concoction which kills the child's powers but also renders the child permanently blind. The witches never bothered about this somewhat harsh law because blood witches were so rare that some don't even believe they existed. At least, not anymore. Some even say they never ever existed, and it was just the Carruther family's way of imposing a stupid rule on the witches. That afternoon when Aunt Lena told us the truth, we got to learn that the myth of blood witches wasn't just stories. When Mum gave birth to me, the midwife, a fellow witch, who delivered me, as the law demanded, placed a crystal stone on my head—and it glowed red. They were both scared and confused. They took it away and placed it on my head several times, but the result was the same—I was a blood witch. An anomaly, even among my own kind. The midwife immediately brought out the concoction to give to me, but Mum begged her not to. Mum told her that it could be their little secret. As Mum and the woman argued, Dad came in and joined Mum in trying to make the midwife understand that they couldn't allow their little daughter lose her sight. But the midwife was adamant and tried to alert the authorities, but got into a struggle with my parents; she fell down, hit her head on the ground, and that was it for her. Aunt Lena, who at the time, was in a city far away, got a call from my mother, who then told her everything that happened. The only way to pass the crystal stone test was if they were to cast an ancient spell in the forbidden grimoire. However, one of the required items was a drop of a vampire’s blood. They knew that the werewolves would still test me multiple times before I was even a month old—they had to act fast. What my mother didn't tell Aunt Lena at the time was that they were going to go in search of Zanu and Grace Ulrich, the last vampires, who, mind you, weren't allowed in Darkwood for very good reasons. According to Aunt Lena, Dad found the vampires and explained their ordeal to them. Zanu and Grace agreed to give them what they asked for, but in exchange for a little bit of vampire blood, they would feed on them—and that was the real story of my parents' death. After they gave me Zanu's blood, they went back to Zanu and Grace's residence to uphold their end of the bargain. When Aunt Lena came to town, as her sister instructed, she went to Zanu's residence and took the drained bodies back to Darkwood. They were buried before anyone saw the drained bodies. All in all, Rachel and I couldn't ask for a better guardian than Aunt Lena. She was always there for us, even having to leave her human partner, to raise us. Contrary to someone who knew my story but didn't know me, I was happy. In fact, we all were. We had a restaurant where we all worked, and that was where we spent most of our day. One more thing… After my eighteenth birthday, Aunt Lena and Rachel poured me my first glass of beer, and it was a great night. Funny enough, I didn't remember that night because of my birthday or that it was the first time I drank alcohol. From that night, from time to time, I would dream about getting married and having kids with a werewolf—which, by the way, was impossible even if you tried. Whenever I had these dreams, I would feel so much love for this werewolf and would also feel loved. It was really weird, and I tried not to make much out of it. The dreams were strange though they felt awfully real. I would have them at least three times a year, and I remembered them, even though I'm never able to recall the face of this werewolf whenever I wake up. But they were just dreams, weren't they?