Distancia: Witch of the Era

The wrath of the witches’ clan stormed like thunder that night. They gathered at the gates of the king’s castle, eyes ablaze with fire, chanting as one: “Burn her! Seal her fate! She’s a disgrace to our bloodline!” Their voices howled into the darkness, like some ancient rite summoning death for the one who broke the sacred oath. “Execute her! She’s not worthy of life!” “A traitor! She sold herself to the humans!” There was no mercy in their hearts. They had forgotten that she was once one of their own. They wanted her erased from history. Deep within the castle, untouched by the flames of hatred, the queen writhed in agony atop her velvet-covered bed. Golden locks clung to her sweat-drenched forehead. She screamed—not from fear of the mob outside, but from the labor that threatened to tear her apart. At her side knelt Persil, her loyal handmaid, clutching her trembling hand and whispering through tear-filled eyes, “Your Majesty, hold on... please, just a little longer.” The queen turned to her, eyes filled with a sorrow that reached beyond pain, and spoke between broken breaths: “Persil... my faithful one... if I don’t make it... promise me—look after my daughter. Don’t let anyone harm her. Swear it.” Persil’s lips quivered as her tears fell freely. “Don’t speak like that, please... you’ll be alright.” But the queen persisted, her voice soft, yet unyielding. “No, Persil... I must. They’ll condemn her. They won’t understand. They’ll want her burned for the sin I committed... She’ll be alone…” “No, she won’t!” Persil choked, interrupting her mistress, but the queen only squeezed her hand tighter. Outside, the cries of hatred rose ever louder, unaware of the life fighting to be born, and the life slipping away with it. The queen’s breaths grew shallow, her soul cracking with every scream. Her eyes locked on Persil’s, as though carving her final wish into the air itself. “No... Persil,” she whispered, her voice trembling like a dying flame. “They’ll judge her... All of them. They’ll demand her death. Please... protect her. She’s yours now.” Tears poured down Persil’s cheeks as she clutched her queen’s hand. “Your Majesty... please, don’t leave me...” Then, suddenly, the pain ceased. A hush fell over the room, as if time itself paused. In that fleeting moment, life began again—the cry of a newborn filled the air. A witchling, born into a world that would never welcome her. Persil lifted the baby girl, eyes wide at the striking resemblance between child and mother. Gently, she placed the child beside the queen, who reached out with trembling fingers to touch her daughter’s cheek. “So beautiful...” the queen whispered, her gaze soft and glistening with unshed tears. “She doesn’t deserve what’s coming... Take her, Persil... Take her far away. Keep her safe. She is my legacy.” With shaking hands, Persil wrapped the baby in a silk cloak embroidered with royal sigils and held her close. She opened the window—the cold night air rushing in, brushing against her tear-streaked face. One last glance at her queen, the woman who had trusted her with everything. The queen’s eyes shimmered with peace. She knew her child would live. Without a word, Persil took to the skies, riding the night winds, tears falling like stars as she soared toward the forest. Toward safety. Toward the unknown. Back in the castle drowned in darkness, the queen collapsed against her pillows, color draining from her face. Her breath slowed... until the doors burst open. A woman stepped in. Identical in face to the queen, yet colder. Her hair was black as midnight, her presence sharp as a blade. “What's wrong with you?” she snapped, striding toward the bed. “You were fine this morning.” The queen lifted her head weakly, voice faltering: “Jion... my sister... I’m glad you’re here... at the end... I need to—” But Jion scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, spare me. Are you really going to die... just like that? Without suffering? How... disappointing.” The queen’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her breath stuttered. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, silence enveloped the room. A stillness of endings. She looked into her sister’s eyes—and saw only cruelty. The smile on Jion’s lips wasn’t one of mourning. It was victory. Jion leaned down, a snake in velvet skin, and whispered into her ear: “Let me share a little secret, dear sister... Everything happening to you—was my doing.” The queen’s eyes darkened with shock. “What...?” “I lured him here. I spoke with your voice. And the fool came willingly.” Jion grinned, venom in every word. “He thought he was saving you.” The queen’s heart raced in horror. “No...” “Yes,” Jion hissed. “Your precious Tension... never left the island. I killed him. A single blow. Then I burned the body myself. No trace left.” Tears slipped from the queen’s eyes, a silent cry of heartbreak. “Why? Jion... why?!” Jion's smile widened. “You really don’t know? You took everything from me! You were always the beautiful one, the gifted one, the queen. While I was the shadow at your feet. Forgotten. Bitter. Alone. Even he—Tension—chose you.” She stepped closer, her voice icy: “But that’s over now. In their eyes, you’re the traitor. And I’ll be the savior.” Then, as if savoring the moment, she added with a wicked glint in her eyes: “Oh—and one last thing. I’m carrying his child. The heir to the witches’ clan now grows inside me. Isn’t that poetic?” The queen gasped, trembling from head to toe. “Jion...” But Jion merely turned away. “Goodbye, Beol.” The queen’s voice cracked, her final word no more than a breath: “Sister…” And then... silence. Her hand slipped from the bed, lifeless. Her final sight was her sister’s eyes, burning with hate. But within her still face, peace bloomed. A fragile peace. Because she had left behind a secret. A daughter. The only soul who knew the truth was Persil. --- Far away from the palace steeped in betrayal, Persil ran through the forest, gasping for air, her arms wrapped around the wailing child. She ducked behind a tree, heart pounding as the sounds of pursuit echoed through the night. She held the baby close, whispering through her tears: “Don’t cry... I’m here. And I always will be. I promise you, my sweet... Beatrice.” To be continued...