Everything was fine while I played with fire, laughing loud as I watched it dance between my fingers.
I was having fun—until they came, and from that moment on I would spend a long time not knowing what it meant to be happy.
[04/24/2020]
— Time to wake up!
Ben, my older brother, flopped on top of me and I pushed him straight to the floor.
— There will come a day when I’ll kill you. — I muttered in reproach. — Honestly, you have no idea how unpleasant it is to wake up and the first thing you see is your face.
He laughed out loud. The sun streaming through the window made his brown skin glow, making him even more radiant. That made me scowl and want to go back to sleep.
— Stop annoying your sister. — Dad came in and slapped his son on the back of the neck. — Good morning, Mel.
— Good morning, Father.
— For him you wish a good morning.
I stuck my tongue out at Ben and he returned the gesture like we were kids. My father smiled to the side watching our interaction and then put his arm around my brother’s shoulders.
— Ben and I will go out. We need to take care of a few things in the forest for the next full moon’s ritual, help your mother at home, alright?
I snapped a salute to show I agreed with my father’s order and saw Ben’s tattoos glowing, proof of how excited he was.
Every witch dreamed of being the strongest. Ben was one of the greatest in the village, but he was still too immature to learn all the spells. And me, well, let’s just say I have serious problems controlling the force with which I cast my magic.
I waved goodbye to the two of them and, after using the bathroom, sat on the bed with my spellbook to study. I was training day and night to become officially a witch. Before Ben was born, Mom was a prodigy; everyone believed she would be the greatest of her generation, but after having children she gave that life up. To this day no witch has managed to surpass the greatest in our history, Margareth Howard, she was the most powerful of all. That’s what I study for: to be like her.
After spending the afternoon studying, I looked for something to pass the time.
I created a small flame and watched it wander between my fingers, moving from one hand to the other. The red ember’s flicker held my attention and I wanted to try something new, so I turned it into a vibrant pink flame, then green, and finally blue. I smiled at my little achievement and ran down the stairs to show my mother.
— Mom! — I called through the house and found her in the kitchen. — Look what I learned.
I happily showed my flames changing color as they passed from hand to hand—first white, then pink, purple, and finally a very faint green.
She smiled proudly and I lowered my eyes. Morgana always had the brightest smile I’d ever seen.
— How wonderful, Mel! Keep training and maybe I’ll teach you our family’s secret spell. — She winked and I smiled. — Your grandmother always wanted me to teach you; I think soon you’ll be ready for it.
We didn’t look much alike, neither physically nor in personality. Morgana Bowen was blonde with the most beautiful caramel-colored eyes I’d ever seen.
I took after her pale skin and blonde hair, but I had my father’s green eyes. Silver Bowen was an immigrant with dark skin and ebony-black hair; his intense green eyes made many people stop to admire him. Dad came from a line of witches already extinct and was the last of his lineage, my dear older brother was his carbon copy.
— Melinda Mora Bowen. I really hope your room is clean.
I rolled my eyes, amused.
— Mom, I’m nineteen, I don’t think you need to tell me to clean my room anymore.
With a snap of her fingers she made a small cloud appear above my head and it started to rain, extinguishing the fire that still flickered in my hand.
— Hurry up, then come down to help me make dinner. Your father and brother will be back soon, and you know how irresponsible those two are, I bet they forgot to eat.”
Arguing was never an option, so I got up to do as I was told.
I was going back to my room when suddenly the door was kicked in and explosions began to echo across the village. The last thing I remember is my mother’s voice screaming my name before something struck my head hard.
[04/29/2020]
I kept my head bowed the entire way from the prison to the royal plateau. I didn’t try to fight when they shackled me or when they put chains on me to prevent escape. I no longer had reasons to live; there was nothing left to fight for.
Five days earlier I’d woken up in the palace prison with a pounding headache; the manacles were heavy and drained all my powers. I could hear the guards whispering and learned that from the attack on my village I was the only one captured—that I was all that remained. I began to struggle; I couldn’t simply accept that such a thing could be happening. Because of that, the guards were instructed to beat me until I fainted again, and that cycle repeated until I simply couldn’t bear to fight anymore.
And now I stood on the plateau, listening—or at least pretending to listen—to King Antenor’s speech, but I paid real attention only to a small part at the end when he finally pronounced my fate.
— Your sentence is death!
I heard those words spoken before they took me to my cell, so I took a long look at the sun, since it would probably be the last time I saw it until the day of my death.