Deidre Lawson, the renowned Silver Witch of the North cum Ice Princess, was a witchling once upon a time. A witchling with a complete family and an innocent heart. They did not have much, but they were happy- the three of them. And there is nothing as tragic as a sheltered witchling watching her beloved parents be torn to shreds by demons, unable to lift a finger to help.
Experiencing that much gore at an age where most witchlings would be lazing about, doing nothing but playing, and being mischievous has its fair share of advantages and demerits, as evident in the paranoia that never left her since that day.
That paranoia is the reason her coven has more Enforcer Witches than the other covens put together. It is why her coven remains the most fortified, even more, fortified than that of the High Witch. That excessive, mostly irrational feeling of distrust is the reason she is once more at the holding cell where the other ‘witness’ who lost her marbles is kept, concealing her aura and wearing a deadpan expression.
The witch lays on the floor with her eyes closed. She could be mistaken for a corpse if not for the barely visible but periodic rise and fall of her chest. With broken, shriveled skin that is devoid of color and hair plastered to a face that is slick with sweat, the witch presents a sorry sight. She looks more like a bag of bones than an actual living, breathing being.
One moment, the witch is on the floor, dead to the world. The next moment, she is banging at the door, screaming to be let out. Deidre simply stares at her, letting her vent until she is out of steam. When she quietens, the Silver Witch of the North removes the sound insulation barrier and creates another one that encompasses them both, allowing the contents of their conversation remain within the barrier.
“What did you see?” Deidre’s voice is like a calm breeze, lulling the witch into a false sense of security. “I saw… I saw a demon.” The witch’s voice is shaky and barely audible. “What did it do?” Deidre prods. “It- it looked at me with so-so-so m-much hostility that m-my h-h-heart almost g-gave out in f-fear.”
“Can you describe its features?”
“It-it-it ooooh no. I-I-I can’t. I-I’m so scared.” The witch is trembling. She lifts her hand to clutch at Deidre’s clothes but drops them immediately. “D-Don’t t-t-touch.”
Deidre speaks up to prevent her from continuing her monologue. This time, her voice is even softer. “You can tell me. Don’t you trust me?”
“I-I-I d-do, It’s j-just that…” “That you’re afraid?” the witch nods at this.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Deidre tries to come close, but the witch shrieks. “D-Don’t come close! Stay away!”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t hurt me. You won’t hurt me.”
“I-I can. E-e-even th-though I d-d-don’t want to.”
“Can you please tell me what it looked like?”
At this question, the witch goes silent. Soon, Deidre begins to wonder if her hypnosis has stopped working. But the witch’s next response clears her doubts.
“It l-looked l-l-like an n-normal human, e-e-except that it g-gave off a-a-an aura of p-pure e-e-evil. I-In place o-of eyes, i-it h-had d-dark v-v-vortex-like s-swirls. I-It was s-so h-horrifying.” The witch is already in tears by now.
“Ssh. It’s alright,” Deidre coos, comforting her. After a while, her loud sobs die down to whimpers.
“Did it say anything?”
“I-It s-s-said… No!” the witch screams and shakes her head. Deidre tries to calm her down, but she only becomes more violent. She lunges at the Silver Witch of the North, but her hands pass through the air. Realizing that it is an illusion, she screams in rage.
Deidre stops the illusion and reinstates the barrier. She then exits the facility, leaving the witch to her devices. Perhaps, if she had left a minute later, she would’ve heard the witch’s last words- I made a mistake. I’m sorry.
Sandara expected to see her niece pacing around the house, worried sick for her safety. She was halfway home when the High Witch asked her to make a detour to Morsgrove to conduct another round of investigation. Owing to the fact that it was not an official assignment, she had to be as overt as possible, leaving no traces of her presence at all. Sneaking around a witch’s territory, whether she is powerful or not, is no mean task. But for a witch like Sandara Harrison, who has lived among humans for well over a century without being discovered, it is like a walk in the park. Were it not for the sheer size of Morsgrove, she would’ve returned much earlier. She made a mental note to tour each and every coven one of these days. Don’t want to be caught unawares if I have to go there officially. Maybe I can bring the witchling along. It’ll be a good experience for her.
The plan to take her niece on such an adventure puts her in a good mood, such that she isn’t bothered that the witchling isn’t running down the stairs to welcome her the moment she steps into the house. She thinks nothing of it and instead heads to her room to surprise her. Only she ends up being surprised the moment she opens the door to see her niece on the bed.
At first glance, the young witch seems to be fast asleep. But on closer inspection, Sandara realizes that she is not breathing. Panic like no other courses through her bones and she struggles to breathe.
“No, no, no,” she mumbles like a broken record, as she approaches the bed. “This c-cannot b-be. It’s impossible.” She tries to convince herself that her senses are only playing tricks on her. I must be tired and simply imagining things.
When she fails to find a pulse and is unable to sense Lia’s aura, she screams.