CAST OUT
1179 Words
Selora’s words still rang inside Serenya’s skull long after the goddess’s form dissolved into the air. The silence that followed was unbearable, pressing against her ears until even her own breath sounded foreign. Her body shook violently as she tried to sit upright, palms scraping against shards of broken chalk and stone. Her arms felt weak, trembling, but she forced herself to move. She couldn’t stay sprawled like a child who’d been beaten.
Her eyes caught on the shattered mirror propped against the wall. She stumbled toward it, her knees wobbling, her chest still burning where Selora’s power had crushed her lungs. The reflection that stared back was both hers and not hers. Her face was pale, drained, yet her eyes glowed faintly, as though the moon itself had etched its mark inside her. Pupils sharp, silver light flickering in their depths. She gripped the sides of the mirror, fingers digging into the frame until splinters cut her skin.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no…”
The sound of hurried footsteps outside froze her. She turned sharply, heart pounding. Before she could wipe the blood from her lips or erase the circle from the floor, the door flew open.
Light spilled in, and with it came faces—witches of her coven, villagers from the square, elders with stern mouths and frightened eyes. Gasps filled the chamber.
“She’s done it,” someone muttered, voice trembling.
“i***t girl!” another cried.
“Selora’s wrath will fall on us all!”
Their words piled on each other until it was a torrent of noise. Serenya staggered back, spine pressing against the cold wall, her hands trembling at her sides.
High Priestess Meriel stepped forward, her robe brushing over the broken symbols etched into the stone. Her eyes scanned the scorched floor, the dying glow of the circle, the look on Serenya’s pale face. Meriel’s expression hardened like stone.
“What have you done?” she demanded. Her voice cracked like a whip, silencing the chaos behind her.
Serenya’s throat clenched. Her lips parted, but the words lodged there. How could she explain? How could she put into words the weight of the goddess’s hand crushing her chest, the curse now etched into her soul? Her body trembled with the attempt.
“I… I only wanted to—”
“Wanted?” Meriel’s voice rose. Her arm cut through the air in a sharp gesture. “You stole from the goddess. You defied the warnings carved into every wall of our temple. Do you know what you have brought down upon us?”
Serenya flinched at the steel in her tone. Around her, the crowd muttered and hissed, fear sharpening into anger.
“She can’t stay,” a younger witch spat. “Selora will punish us all for harboring her.”
“She’s cursed!” another voice cried out.
“Cast her out before it’s too late!”
The words pounded against Serenya’s chest harder than Selora’s power had. Cast out. Her stomach churned. She looked from face to face—people she had grown up among, people who had once smiled at her, who had shared bread, who had whispered secrets during festivals. Now every gaze carried disgust, fear, or hatred.
Her knees buckled, and she fell forward, palms striking the stone. “Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I can fix it—I can find a way—just give me time.”
Meriel’s face didn’t soften. Her hand trembled slightly, but her words were cold, unflinching. “There is no fixing what you have done. You carry Selora’s curse, Serenya. You are no longer one of us. From this moment forward, you walk alone.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some crossed their arms tightly, as though shielding themselves. Others spat on the ground, the sound sharp and cruel.
“No…” Serenya shook her head desperately, tears burning in her eyes. “Please, High Priestess, I’ll do anything. Don’t turn me away. You raised me, you taught me—”
“Enough!” Meriel’s voice boomed through the chamber. She pointed toward the door. “You leave now. You take nothing. You are hereby cast out from this coven. The goddess’s curse belongs to you alone, and we will not share in it.”
The room seemed to tilt around Serenya. Her stomach dropped, her breath caught in her chest. The crowd shifted as two witches stepped forward, their hands glowing faintly with containment spells. The warning was clear—if she resisted, they would drag her out in chains.
Shame clawed at her throat. She forced herself to stand, though her legs trembled beneath her. Each step toward the door was agony, each glance from the others slicing deeper into her chest.
As she reached the doorway, someone in the crowd hurled a rock. It struck her shoulder with a dull thud. She gasped, stumbling, clutching the spot. Laughter broke out in the back.
“Beast,” a voice spat.
“Monster.”
The words echoed in her ears as she staggered forward, out of the chamber, into the open square.
The villagers had gathered, torches burning in their hands. They had heard already, the fear spreading like wildfire. Mothers pulled their children close. Men stood with clenched jaws, eyes full of accusation.
“That’s her,” someone whispered.
“The cursed witch.”
“She’ll bring death upon us.”
Serenya tried to keep her head high, but the weight of their stares bent her shoulders. Her throat ached from holding back sobs. She moved through them, their bodies parting just enough to let her pass, though hands shoved at her arms, spit struck her cloak.
At the edge of the square, she stopped and turned. The coven stood in the doorway of her chamber, torches flickering behind them, faces set like stone. No one stepped forward. No one spoke her name.
The final thread inside her snapped.
When the last torchlight faded behind her, her knees gave out. She collapsed on the dirt path, her hands clawing at the ground. A sob tore from her throat, raw and painful. She pressed her forehead to the earth, her body shaking.
Alone. Cast out. Marked.
Selora’s words echoed again, cruel and final: You will become what you hate. A beast that knows no peace.
Serenya clenched her fists against the dirt. “No,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I won’t let it end like this. I’ll find a way. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll break your curse, Selora. Do you hear me?” Her voice cracked into the night, fierce and desperate.
She pushed herself up, wiping her face with trembling hands. Her pride was gone, her coven lost, her home burned from her heart—but her will had not died. It would carry her forward.
She turned her back on the only life she had ever known and walked into exile.
- Writer
