The slaughter formation is triggered, and it reaps the lives of the opposition without delay.
As the formation drains the blood from the witches, screams of varying pitches and intensities rend the air. The High Witch makes sure to seal the entire room within a bubble that prevents sound from escaping to the surroundings. Even though the office of the High Witch is in a secluded place, it is better to take no chances with something like this.
The screams are a queer melody to Estelle’s ears, as she revels in their suffering. Finally, she can be at ease, knowing that there is one less hidden knife capable of stabbing her in the back. The opposition has overstayed their welcome; they have become a parasite that needs to be flushed out as quickly as possible.
The redhead witch dies with her eyes opened, full of hate and loathing. Such venomous eyes would scare most people, but it only adds to the beauty of the pictures formed in her mind, the mental images she will have to project to Evanora when they meet. Because hiding things from her grand aunt is practically impossible, Estelle finds it easier to let her memories do the talking.
Each man’s response to death is different; the fear and disbelief in the plump witch’s eyes prove this. It is as if she cannot fathom how things ended up this way- everything was going so well for them until it wasn’t anymore.
The High Witch is looked up to by a multitude of witches. Her calm, confident demeanor endears her to everyone, and this is one of her many redeeming qualities. But if any of the people who look up to her sees this, all hope will be lost.
At this point, she looks like the goddess of death, the harbinger of eternal damnation.
Estelle conjures a bowl of popcorn and some champagne. This is no cause for celebration, but she isn’t celebrating anything. As far as she is concerned, the sight of the dying witches will make a lovely movie. And like Sandara always says, what better way to watch a film play out than with a bowl of popcorn and her favorite champagne?
When the assistant of the High Witch opens the door to the reception, she realizes that the room is enveloped in darkness. With a flick of her fingers, a wisp of flame appears at the tip of her fingers, providing slight illumination. In spite of the darkness pervading the room, she is able to make out the silhouette of a lone figure sitting on a high chair. The chair is placed in such a way that she is unable to tell the identity of the individual sitting in it.
However, she does not bother checking; her plan worked after all. The High Witch has been overthrown, and the time for the dark opposition to rule has come. She abandons her formerly subservient posture and adopts a haughty one. With her spine straightened, back ramrod straight, face tilted slightly upwards and stuck-up nose, she paints the ultimate picture of a haughty royal.
Sadly, she rejoiced too early, as the chair slowly rises up in the air and turns around, revealing the figure sitting in it. Bloodshot eyes stare at her, devoid of life and warmth.
A bone-chilling fear grips her, and the wisp of flame nears flickers out. However, she calms herself and reinforces the spell, allowing the formerly unstable wisp of flame to not only become stable but shine forth with even more intensity.
“You have neglected your training all this time. How low you’ve sunk, requiring the aid of light to navigate the darkness. Your father would be highly disappointed in you if he were alive.”
How? How is this possible?
Surprise coats her features momentarily, and even though she manages to retain her former disposition, her micro-expressions do not go escape the watchful eyes of the High Witch.
“Are the guests…”
“Gone?” the High Witch complete her sentence for her before replying to her question.
“Yes, they are. Although it depends on what you mean by ‘gone’.”
“I don’t understand.” A hint of panic appears in the younger witch’s eyes, but she does a good job at sounding unaffected.
“You do not need to understand. You’re just my assistant. And a very dumb one at that.”
This is not the first time the High Witch is referring to her as a dumb person, but the intent behind that pronouncement is different from before. Where the statement was previously made as an offhanded comment, or even a rare joke at her expense, it now sounds like the precursor to a lot of things troubling things at that.
“My queen…”
“I only need you to answer a few questions of mine. Would you do me that favor?”
The question is asked in a gentle manner, but the assistant knows that the High Witch isn’t asking. She’s commanding, and there can be no other response than acquiescence.
“Yes, my queen.”
“Where were you six fortnights ago?”
“Six fortnights ago?”
“Yes. Or would you like me to help you refresh your memory?”
“N-no, m-my queen. Allow me a moment to recall what happened that day.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
After a moment of contemplation, the assistant’s eyes light up. “I remember, my queen. I was here, in this castle, tending to some miscellaneous activities you had assigned to me.”
“It’s good that you remember. By the way, would those miscellaneous activities in question include sending information on my daughter to some unscrupulous elements known as the opposition?”
“What? No, my queen. I would never do that! I swear on my life.”
“And the lives of countless others related to you, I presume?”
The assistant says nothing- not that she has anything to say at this point. Things did not go as planned, and she will soon be dancing to the tune of punishment. But not before Estelle is done toying with her.