Once upon a time, there lived a powerful witch, with magic as powerful as time itself and a beauty that was beyond this world. Unable to completely break free of the psychological shackles that had bound her as a witchling, she chose to dwell in a cave, isolated from the rest of her kind. Perhaps, it was a good decision, for everyone else feared her as much as she feared herself, or even more. As they say, out of sight is out of mind. And thus, she was gradually forgotten.
She had a rather queer relationship with her sister, for they were not friends, but they could not be said to be enemies either. They were as different as lard and cheese, yet they could trust each other a pinch.
The horns of war beckoned once more, and her sister, alongside many other powerful witches and wizards, joined in the battle for supremacy against the spawns of Hell. This time, however, she was left with the last child of her sister, a witchling that had barely lived up to half a century.
It is said that the sister knew that this battle would be her last, for she set her household in order, silently drawing up a will and making arrangements for her demise.
This war, the first of its kind in the entire period of existence of the immortal ones, ravaged kingdoms with careless abandon. Blood flowed ceaselessly, like water from a burst pipe, yet the battle did not cease. Many watched their children, spouses, and all those they held dear perish, but the war did not cease. Curses rained upon the inhabitants of Earth and Hell, but the war did not cease. The outcry of rage and the sounds of flesh torn apart were all that could be heard, but the war did not cease.
Rulers were beheaded and their offspring tortured to the brink of insanity, but the war did not cease. Truces were formed and broken almost immediately, but the war did not cease. Alliances of varying degrees and kinds were formed, but the war did not cease.
However, the cry of one little girl, the child left in the witch’s care melted her icy heart and gave life to her desiccating gifts. The witch freed herself of a vow she had made several centuries back to never use her powers actively and was able to come up with a plan to end the century-long war.
Sadly, the little girl was destined to never see the rest of her family again- another price the witch had to pay for using Fate magic to change the course of things. If that was all, the witch would be able to bear with it. But she did not realize how merciless Fate can be when misused until her niece could not bear an offspring from the ‘Tree of Life.
Unwilling to accept the fate thrust upon an innocent child, who merely wished for the end of bloodshed and nothing more, the witch set out of her cave, something she had not done in centuries. She was determined to find a way around what she termed a curse.
Nature, however, strives to achieve balance and harmony at all times, and her niece found her soulmate. But when it comes to those chosen by Fate, things can never be that easy. Her soulmate, the one who with the slightest chance of giving her an offspring who could wield magic was none other than the werewolf prince.
Undeterred by the familial ties binding them at that time, the soulmates decided to abandon everything and spend the rest of their lives in seclusion, away from the eyes and ears that would spread seeds of discord and lead to another unneeded war. They did this with the blessing of the witch and the werewolf queen. A mother’s love is such a beautiful thing.”
Estelle is lost in her memories, and a wistful smile remains on her face. She looks nothing like the smirking demoness she was earlier when she magically strapped the witches to their seats. The plump witch blinks, wondering if that outburst actually happened.
“What does the sob story of your mother have to do with us? Set us free this instant, or…”
“Or what? You’ll scream bloody murder?” Estelle replies in a snarky manner, destroying her white lotus image in their hearts. Is this the calm, gentle High Witch they know?
“Anyway, we haven’t gotten to the interesting part yet. So you might want to hang on for a bit longer.” her voice returns to normal, but the damage is already done.
“The soulmates had six children, five of whom are werewolves. You see,” The High Witch twirls a strand of her hair, “the witches have always been at the bottom of the ladder of the hierarchy of supernatural beings. Even in copulation, the werewolf gene is dominant to its magic counterpart. This makes me wonder the reason for the witches’ over-inflated ego. Perhaps, it is the case of the empty barrel making the loudest noise.”
A witch tries to voice her disagreement, only to realize that her vocal cords have been sealed. She can only settle for non-committal noises in her throat. What a pity.
“To the witch’s delight, the last of her niece’s children inherited the magic gene, ensuring the continuation of the ancient bloodline. Upon maturity, the child returned to the realm of magic and remained under her tutelage for centuries. During this time, one of the bodies containing her niece’s seeds was blessed by the Tree of Life, and another powerful witch, who is yet to meet her match, was born.
The aged witch decided that it was time to open her wings and let her eaglets fly into the world. The best way to learn is to discover, and one must face his or her own trials without external help. With a little guidance, both witches matured and assumed key positions within the magic society.