The oldest sister, who is now a witch, must
convince her youngest sister to return home.
Fire danced in the cabin’s hearth as sage perfumed the cold air. The
cloaked figure opened a ceremonial circle with a sprinkle of salt. The scraping
of the straw-broom finished humming its mystical chant as the witch laid it
near the altar. Mystical creatures on the carved box elicited her fingertips to
trace the surface before placing it in the center of the circle. On opening, an
array of magical treasures compelled her to cast the spell.
Freeing her spirit, she drew a deep breath, focusing her thoughts on a
familiar subject; a young woman riding on the wind as a falcon. The image
inspired a reminiscent smile that evoked admiration and misery. Each peek into
her sister’s world revealed an untapped strength in a life of condemned
servitude.
Fingering a long piece of twine, she strung it over the etched groove
embedded in the floor before welcoming the watchtowers and elements. Trusting
each item in the box, her confidence grew with the knowledge that each possess
the power to answer her wishes. “For my altar, I offer these elements.”
Placing her colored candles in their sacred positions with each
lighting, she thanked the gods. Dropping to her knees, she lifted the talisman,
a hawk-shaped candle. Setting it on the floor, she chanted, “A fire hawk to
bring its protection.”
Slipping her hand under a shiny purple rock, she offered the gift as
invocations whispered from her pursed lips. “Wisdom to come for my amethyst.
Oil from a water creature held in an ocean shell to ease the tide of emotions
from swimming in the world of dreams.” She set a seashell with a small vial of
fish oil nestled in its center on the floor.
“And illumination shall come from the quill of a dove.” Throwing the
feather into the air, she watched it float back into the circle.
The remote connection brought her sister’s painful aches and dark
thoughts into a reality pulse, proclaiming the time has come for her sibling to
move forward and return to the life that mishaps had thrown off course.
Agitated by her part in the girl’s perpetual abuse, the woman fought
the regret building in her soul and centered her focus on the four elements on
the floor. Having established the inherent bond that they shared in their
youth, she lowered her head and nudged a message through her sister’s dark
dream. “Wake up, little one! You need to go home. Mother needs your help.”
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Anita Philmar likes to write stories that push the limit. A writer by day, and a dreamer by night, she wants her readers to see the world in a new way. She enjoys creating situations within different cultures where anything can happen, and hot romantic moments come to life in a great read.
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