Writing Prompt

I no longer live in saccharine summers but the winters and pestilence of my past. I crave the cold like a blood hound just to relinquish it by the heat of a fireplace. I plague my soul with frostbite yet it will not shatter. I yearn for the serenity of snow of feeling numb between the dirt and fresh snowfall. But perhaps even more I long for the feeling of my hands scorching in the dull heat when i come back home. Feeling my skin set ablaze against the light of a candle. It is what makes me feel alive, like I am not dying. I can not sustain what it is to be satisfied anymore with or without the feeling on my skin. It’s like I’m shedding what has been cultivated in my bones and becoming lighter. It stems from a memory, deeply entangled within the roots of my mind, of drowning. You do not know how lonely it is to die until the last breath escapes your lungs and everything is cold. I felt the hand of god drag me toward the light, but it had just been a mortal, selfless savior who I once knew. Their hands were warm, and the light of the moon was just as warm and forgiving as a sunrise. I am trying to relive the moment when I was suddenly alive again, the gut wrenching admonition that I kept breathing. I have never wanted to die, but when the embrace of death was more of a kiss than a bleeding wound, how could I have not become infatuated with such a terminal glory. So this is where I have found myself once more, a late night bath. I have not even bothered to take my clothes off which only makes the freezing water a small bit better. I do not care how long I will be chasing after my breath because I know I will be warm soon enough.

“Our brain is like a cold, dark attic. Spiderwebs in the corners ready to lunge. Shadows moving swiftly, giving only a glimpse of the truth. A darkness lingers, waiting for the moment to strike. A silence that echoes through what once was full of fairy tales now feels like a never-ending nightmare. You can hear the beatles climbing the walls of what once was our safe place. You remember the times when you came here to escape the chaos that lay outside. A place with no screaming or fast-moving men with a deadly purpose you can only imagine. This place was a sanctuary of tranquility and peace; it was your home. It is now a cold, damp place with unsettling whispers. A place where one door leads to the next, keeping you eternally lost in its suffocating grip.” I turn to look around the room, settling my eyes on Dr.Brown. “Are you basing this off just feelings?Feelings are good, but let’s think about our surrounding environment instead. How about we consider it’s just a now feeling, not a forever one,” the doctor pronounced as she wrote in her notepad.     The room is filled with light from the giant windows. We can tell she tries to make it look more bright to make it seem less of a, ‘if you say the wrong thing I have to send you off’ type deal.     There’s only a few pillows on each side of the long brown couch. I know she watches to see if we take the pillows or leave them. If we leave it we’re more concerned with others' comfort. If we move them, then we’re comfortable making ourselves comfortable.    Then there’s where we put the pillow. Did we toss it over to Amber, or did we place it down in front of ourselves or beside us. In front of us would be like a shield compared to neatly next to us. And if we threw it to Amber, it would seem as if we are too comfortable.    We switch up on what we do to our pillow each session which could mean many things but we want to know what she thinks it means.     The room is covered with drawings from past and present patients. The age range has to be from 6-18 due to the various drawing styles.     Her desk is facing behind her brown chair that has a coffee stain on the side. On it she has two pictures. Our guess is her family with her two little boys 8 and 12 and her husband who works as a professor for the university of Kentucky. She has colorful pens arranged in a circle. Her desk is neatly laid out which we appreciate because our last therapist was quite messy and incomplete with her evaluations.  We feel the air thicken and we look over to Amber. She’s staring daggers at Dr.Brown, who seems to be more interested In her shoes than anything. We can tell Amber’s about to say something, and before we have a chance to stop her, she goes on to say,    “And you're a fraud who claims she has her shit together. Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we started the session and you’re eyeing your phone every minute. For someone who says Gabby just bases her conclusions on just her  feelings, you’re one to talk. You’re messing with your wedding band which some may consider as a nervous tick but due to past sessions and understanding you play with your hair when nervous; you’re thinking your husband found out you cheated on him. I knew you were a cheat from Gabbys third session when you were wearing a lace bra. You might have thought that others didn’t see you change your whole downstairs wardrobe but I did. I overheard a conversation before I walked in on the third session, one I’m glad Gabby didn’t hear because she really likes you. You sounded scared of a little secret coming out and ruining your home. So the next time you have something hypocritical to say think about who the fuck your talking to,” Amber went on to say all in one breath.     We turn to look at Dr. Brown; concerned with what she’ll say to Amber and me. Amber is a good friend, she just forgets that we can stand up for ourselves in a respectful way. She’s not violent, she's just always in survival mode.     We see as Dr. Brown looks at us with a stern look and glimpse of pity.     We know that look anywhere. I want to say that we have a voice and we can use it but we choose to have a fucking filter. I don’t know why she’s looking at me with pity? Me? We’re the ones who should be pitying her. For fuck sake she’s the one who’s worlds falling apart because she has commitment issues that she never got over. You’re 30, married for six years, get it together! We could say that but we don’t.     We look away, eyeing the two pictures of a family who’s going to no longer be a family much longer and turn to look back. We give her a smile.     “I’m very sorry for Amber's words.” We can feel Amber eyeing us down like she’s a cat and we’re a rat but I go on. “We think your input was questionable but yet so are your life choices but we’ll see you next month, on the 10th?” We really don’t want to see her but it’s either her or a mental institution. Remember when we almost went to one because… well we don’t want to remember the bad. We’ve changed for the better.     “Um, yes the 10th. That sounds great, Gabby and…Amber,” She says with questionable uncertainty in her voice.     We get up to leave only for Amber to rush in front of us. We know she’s mad at us but that will be a later problem.

Rowan’s fingers skimmed the stem of her wine glass, her grip so light it might have slipped from her hand if she let her mind drift any further. The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the room, mingling with the steady hum of conversation, but it all felt muffled, distant. The dining room glowed with warm light, the golden hues bouncing off the polished wood of the table. Despite the warmth of the setting, Rowan felt a chill she couldn’t shake.

Her family filled the space effortlessly, as they always did. Voices rose and fell in laughter, the occasional burst of teasing punctuating the meal. Aunt Caroline, ever the matriarch of the moment, presided over the table with her usual sharp wit. Rowan tried to let it all wash over her, focusing on the candle at the center of the table. Its flame wavered and stretched as if caught in a draft, but the air around her was still.

She brought her glass to her lips, the sharp tang of wine cutting through the fog in her mind. She would have preferred silence, but in this family, silence was never an option.

“So, Rowan,” Aunt Caroline began, her voice slicing through the hum of conversation with precision. Rowan’s stomach tightened as her aunt’s gaze settled on her. “What happened with you and Ellis?”

The room didn’t go silent—not quite—but the shift was palpable. The laughter tapered off, and the sound of utensils on plates grew more deliberate, less natural. Rowan felt every pair of eyes dart toward her, some with feigned disinterest, others with the sharp curiosity her family never bothered to mask.

She didn’t look up, instead fixing her gaze on the swirling red liquid in her glass. “It just didn’t work out,” she said evenly, the rehearsed line slipping from her lips like a reflex.

But Aunt Caroline wasn’t one to let a thread unravel without pulling it further. “Didn’t work out?” she repeated, her voice dripping with mock incredulity. “That’s all you’re going to say? The two of you were so—” She paused, waving her fork as if searching for the right word. “—solid. What happened?”

Rowan’s jaw tightened, her fingers pressing into the stem of her glass. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the table, and for a moment, she felt as though she were the only one sitting in darkness.

“We wanted different things,” Rowan said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. She forced herself to meet her aunt’s gaze, hoping the weight of it would end the conversation.

It didn’t.

“That’s a shame,” Aunt Caroline said, her tone heavy with disappointment. “Ellis was such a good man. Everyone thought you two were perfect together.”

Everyone but me, Rowan thought bitterly, though she didn’t dare say it aloud. She kept her face neutral, nodding faintly as her aunt turned her attention to Uncle Martin, who had begun recounting a story about his latest golf game.

The candle’s flame blurred as Rowan’s vision unfocused, the room fading around her as memories clawed their way to the surface.

Ellis had always been the golden boy. Handsome, charming, the kind of man who lit up a room just by walking into it. He was a hothouse flower—cultivated, careful, thriving in controlled environments. Rowan had fallen for that warmth once, drawn to the safety he seemed to embody.

She could still picture the way he used to look at her, his hazel eyes soft and full of something she had mistaken for understanding. He had a way of making her feel like the center of the universe, but only when it suited him.

The last time they’d sat together at this table, the atmosphere had been entirely different. Ellis had charmed her family with his easy smile and quick wit, his stories flowing effortlessly as he played the role of the perfect partner. Her mother had beamed at him, and her father had clapped him on the back, as if silently giving his approval.

“You’ve got a good one,” her mother had said later that night, her voice low as they washed dishes together in the kitchen. “He’s steady. That’s what you need, Rowan. Someone who can ground you.”

At the time, Rowan had nodded, biting back the words that hovered on her tongue. She wanted to say that steadiness wasn’t the same as connection, that grounding could feel like being anchored in place, unable to move. But she hadn’t said anything. She’d smiled, dried her hands, and let the moment pass.

Her memories shifted, unbidden, to the argument that had finally broken them. It had been raining that day, the kind of relentless downpour that blurred the edges of the world. Rowan had been writing, or trying to, her frustration mounting with each word that refused to come.

Ellis had walked into the room, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. “You’re too hard on yourself,” he’d said, his tone light, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to let go of self-doubt.

The words had been the spark that lit the fire. “You don’t get it,” she’d snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut.

Ellis had raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile faltering. “I’m just trying to help.”

“But you’re not helping,” Rowan had said, her voice breaking on the last word. “You’re making it worse. You always make it worse.”

The argument had spiraled from there, years of resentment spilling out in words they couldn’t take back. By the end of it, they had stood on opposite sides of the room, the space between them feeling insurmountable.

Rowan’s chest ached as she pulled herself back to the present. The memories felt like ghosts, their presence heavy and unrelenting. She glanced around the table, at the faces of her family, so full of life and warmth, and felt the absence of Ellis in a way she hadn’t expected.

The day my father passed was the worst moment of my life. Not just because he’s gone, oh no I could heal that scar just like anyone else.

No, it’s because I just don’t remember how. You see, when he passed on, I was young, I think four years old. But past that I can recall only sounds. A deafening scream, the blow of someone’s breath, the cries of so many others. Now I know what you will say. The most obvious solution. “Ask your mother.” Right?

That would be great advice, really it would, but she doesn’t remember either! So I lay in my bed…I’m seven now and I just realized I never told you my name.

I’m so sorry, it’s Damian. Damian Locke. Nice to meet you.

Anyways, I hope I can figure this conundrum out soon because I’m going mad with grief. Shouldn’t you know how someone close to you passed away? Especially a parent?

“Damian! Breakfast!” My mom calls. I forgot about that. I got school today. Great. Just great.

The air was thick with anticipation as the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the shadows that awaited. Nightshade Academy loomed before me, a twisted masterpiece of gothic architecture etched against the deepening twilight, its spires clawing at the sky like the fingers of restless spirits. I, Aurelia Ravenshade, stood at the threshold, feeling the weight of the night settle upon my shoulders, heavy with the secrets it contained.

In this hallowed place, where arcane knowledge intertwined with ancient traditions, my fate had already been sealed. betrothed to Arcadiuo, the embodiment of darkness and charm, our union was a woven tapestry of power and legacy, a crucial step in the unyielding game played by our kin. As I approached the academy's grand entrance, my heart beat a furious rhythm, echoing the clash of desperation and resolve swirling within me.

Arcadiuo was more than just my promised suitor; he was an enigma wrapped in the allure of danger. His raven-black hair fell in luxurious waves, framing a face that had the kind of beauty that belonged to the darkest legends. Those glimmering obsidian eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the ages, a captivating abyss that could draw anyone into its depths. We had been raised within the same circles, intertwined in the same history, yet the truth of who he was remained tantalizingly out of reach. Could I trust this man who had been molded by shadows and ambition?

As I stepped into the academy hall, candle flames flickered in anticipation, illuminating the faces around me. A gathering of our kind—vampires, each with their own motives, each cloaked in veils of silence. They watched with intrigue, eyes gleaming like predatory animals sizing up their next meal. And there, standing amidst them, Arcadiuo shone like a distant star, an intoxicating force that set my heart aflame and dampened my resolve.

“Tonight, we stand at the threshold of our futures,” Arcadiuo proclaimed, his voice a low rumble that sent ripples of anticipation through the assembly. He stepped forward, embodying the duality of darkness and light, a harbinger of both fate and choice. In that moment, I felt the magnetic pull between us, a thread connecting our souls even as it stretched to contain the weight of our destinies.

But my heart was tumultuous, torn between the duty of our bond and the desperation for my own identity. Within the sacred walls of Nightshade Academy, I craved more than an alliance forged by obligation; I sought understanding, connection, a love untainted by the ambitions that loomed on the horizon.

The Elders had decreed this union, a merging of bloodlines to strengthen our families and assert dominance over adversaries lurking in the shadows. Yet, as I stood beside Arcadiuo, I felt the clash within us—his own thirst for power competing with the budding awareness of who we might become if we dared to break free from the shackles of expectation.

As the ceremony unfolded, I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, drowning out the murmurs and watching shadows dance against the stone walls. What lay ahead: passion or peril? Was this boundless creature before me capable of understanding the fire that fueled my very being, or would he be just another piece on the chessboard of our lives?

With renewed determination, I opened my eyes, fixing my gaze on Arcadiuo. Beneath the air of grandeur, I sensed vulnerability, a yearning to break free from the very fabric that bound us. In that fleeting second, I knew we could either become legends or let our destinies fade into nothingness.

“Together,” he whispered, his voice an incantation woven with promise. The word echoed within the chamber, a vow stitched into the fabric of the night. Would I be brave enough to honor this bond while forging my own path, to blend ambition with love?

As the ceremonial blade flashed in the flickering candlelight, everything hung in the balance. Here, at the Convent of the Dark, where history whispered through the corridors, I would weave my own fate alongside Arcadiuo. Together, we would define what it truly meant to embrace our darkness—whether as allies, rivals, or something extraordinary in between.

Tonight would not merely mark the start of our union, but the unfolding of a tale woven in passion, secrets, and a hunger for freedom. The darkness awaited us, and with it, our story was poised to begin.

She froze as the crimson liquid streamed wildly over her white knuckles and dripped down her clenched fists onto the ground. The stark contrast of the dark red against her pale skin was a fervent reminder of the desperation and fury she was holding inside, each drop falling like a silent display to the conflict waged within. It was too late now to change anything, she knew that much. There he lay, eyes bulging; still with that stupid, confused look on his face. Her eyes narrowed as she stood over his cold body. With a deep sigh she considered the energy and effort it would take to clean up all the mess. It reminded her of a well-intentioned date night with Jeremy. He had suggested they try a ‘Couple’s Canvas Paint’ night. An unexpected snort of laughter escaped from her as she recalled how they playfully flicked and splashed paint onto the massive blank canvas before them. That day the room was filled with the sounds of their shared giggles among the clicking of paint cans and splatter of paint.  It would take hours to get this room back in order. Her gaze was drawn to the photos on the wall, each slightly askew. The occupants’ smiles crooked, like an invisible wire was silently tugging at the corners of their mouths. A sudden, icy shiver crept up her spine, sending a wave of goosebumps across her skin and leaving her with a sense of unease. Well, she supposed, it was someone else’s problem now. With cat-like reflexes, she spun quickly on her tiptoes, her thick heels snapping loudly on the stone floor as she unforgivingly rushed away.

The city of Demoran sits centered on the wall of Harondo, northern most line to the Starspire. The city expands out from the center most tower of the wall, a former turret turned residence for the Steard of Demoran. From this perch more than two hundred feet about the River Harondo and adjoining valley, the steward keeps a keen eye on the lands to the south.

“There are far worse things to the north.” A husky voice emerges moments before a portly dwarf. His belly enters the circular throne room. His meaty hands brush through his thick salt and pepper beard, his lips curling in a sarcastic grin.

The recipient , the lithe elven steward, snarls at the appearance of the dwarf, his thin lip curling up into his nose like a dog waiting to snap. “Some might argue greater threats linger here in Demoran.” His voice is even, but sharp. Melodic tones filling the hall but not stopping the advance of the dwarf.

“Is that so? And might you be one of those ‘some’ of which you speak?” The dwarf’s rebuttal is almost a whisper as he rests a hand on the steward’s throne. “The Arvalia I know isn’t so foolish as to make such …. Accusations.”

Arvalia clears his throat and leans his thin frame away from the dwarf “Of course not Grimmock. What is it that brings you to visit this beautiful day?”

(Warning: domestic violence and gore, also it is very long)

_“This can’t be happening, not today anyway._” Dom thinks as she walks into the city square. She tightly grips her younger brother's hand, as they walk into the town square. The town square isn’t normal, one with markets, where festivals take place, it is a place of death; it is where witches get burned. 
The square stings of smoke, even if it has been months since the last burning. Smoke has stained the brink pathway, and the stage where the burnings happen looks like it is about to collapse—the square wrecks of death, with the scent of burned hair and flesh.
Dom can sense who will be burned, it is her mother. Her mind is fogged with all the memories of her mother, all of which only feel like a dream now. She has never thought of her mom as a witch, as she walks up to the stake, she doesn’t even think of the implications. This is her mom, and her mom is going to die.
Her younger brother, Unis, will never remember this, nor does he know who the woman, who stands tied to a stake is, She was taken away from him when he was a toddler, he is now nine years old.  Only Dom lives with the burden of remembering the day, their mother was taken from them.

	_Dom was only fourteen, hiding in her bedroom with Unis. She held onto Unis as she heard the clashing of glasses, screams, and yells from her father.  Her father finally learned the truth about her mother. _
_	She was a witch, a true witch, not the made-up kind._
_	Dom had always thought witches were fake, but finally, it all made sense. The way flowers, which were practically extinct in the kingdom of Avalon, grew only on our land. The way they had been rich from it. This was when Dom was introduced to the real world. This was the moment she became an adult._
_	She had tried not to listen to the words her father was spewing, but it was hard to ignore your father disowning you, all because you're a witch's child.  At that moment, she put her crying brother back into the crib and opened the door.  _
_She was so confident in protecting her mother, thinking that maybe she could talk sense into her father even if it was only for a second, but when, she looked out into the hallway where her father and mother stood, her father suddenly wasn’t her father, he was just a person, an awful person. It was the way he stood with a tall and powerful stance. A broken bottle held in his hand with blood dripping from it._
_Her father was once a kind and loving man, she loved him, and he loved her, but her view of the man who played with her, read her stories, and took her places had changed. He was now just a man who was hurting her mother, a man with hot, angry tears running down his face._
_“Stop!” Dom heard from the entrance of her house. The sound of the door being knocked down echoed through the house. It was her neighbor, who luckily heard the commotion and alerted the guards. Now the guards were restraining the man as he yelled, “She’s a witch, she is a witch, she is evil, and her children are evil as well! Kill her!”  The guards didn’t react to his words. They probably didn’t hear him over the guards yelling._
_Dom gently closed the door and ran back into her room, she pulled Unis out of his crib and hid in the closet, convinced that guards would kill her because she was a witch's child. Her brother cried loudly._
_“Shhh, Unis, Shhh, I love you unis, shhh.”  She panicked as the crying continued. “Be quiet, just shut up!” she whispered and yelled. She was immediately filled with regret, how could she be mad at the little tiny child when there was a man who beat her mother within an inch of her life? _
_She cries into her little brother, using him to cover the sound of her tears. He finally went quiet. At the perfect time too, when their bedroom door started to open, the sounds from outside her room stopped, “It’s okay to come out,” Her mother called. Dom emerged from the closet and she examined her mother, who had blood flowing from her temple and nose.  _
_Her mother kisses little Unis on the cheek and leans into Dom’s ear, “I’m being taken away, please take care of Unis.” _
_“Mum please-” tears stream down Dom’s face, unable to believe what she is hearing. _
_“I have to go, just please take care of Unis. I love you.”  She hugs Dom, silently crying into her, trying to be strong for her last moment with her kids.  A guard enters the room and pulls Dom’s mother away from her. Dom stares blankly as her mom is ripped away from her.  Her heart racing but her body still. _
_Through the window, she can hear the man, who she once called her father, yelling again.  Dom stood crying Unis in her arms, still, her mother was gone. Her father was gone. All in one day. The whole event repeated in her mind. The bloody bottle in her father’s hand, her mom with the blood dripping from her face. All of it repeated and repeated, spinning in her mind like a carousel._

Dom's mother stands tied to the burning stake, Dom stands close, thinking that she would want to see her mom up close for one last time. If only she knew how wrong she would be. She didn’t even think about how six years in prison had treated her mom. Her cheeks look sunken in, and her ribs and spine are shown even with the ratty clothing covering them. Her eyes were closed as if she was dead already.
Her vision of her Mom crumbled, when she had last seen her she had a full figure, not a ghost of one.  But she could still tell who she was by the distinct light patches over her dark skin,  just like Dom had. She thinks of her light patches as what she has left of her mom.
A big lump in her throat has formed, this is the last day her mom has in this world, and she wouldn’t even get a goodbye from her daughter. Only one thing remains in her mind, the betrayal her mother must be feeling, not even a goodbye, maybe she thinks  Dom forgot about her.  And how does she believe  Unis is doing, what if she feels that she gave Unis away?  A few tears stream down her face.
She steps closer to the stage, tempted to say one last thing. “Mom..” she whimpered quietly, her hand covering her mouth, “I-”
“What’s going on?” Dom feels a small tug on her shirt. Unis stood tears streaming down his face.
A major rule of the burning was to stay still and quiet. People have been beaten for crying. Dom can imagine herself being one of those people. As her mom is burned she is sure to shed a few tears. She is more scared for Unis than she is herself. Would he be able to handle being beaten by a guard? He’s so young and sensitive, that even without the knowledge that this woman is his mom, he is sure to be choking on tears by the end, especially if he’s already upset.
She kneels to his level, “ I need you to be quiet, don’t cry, just hold my hand, or hug me, just stay quiet okay.”
“Okay.” He pauses, “Why?” 
“You’ll be in trouble, big trouble.” Dom realizes that her brother's definition of trouble is much different from the guard's version.  “The guards aren’t as nice as me.” 
“Why?”  He looks up at Dom, his childish eyes staring up at her, she can’t possibly tell the truth to him;
Dom purses her lips, “Some people just aren’t nice,” 
“I’m nice,”  He smiles, so proud of himself.
“Ya, you're _really _nice.”  A secret fear she had was him becoming like everyone else: bitter, cruel, and hopeless.  She wished for him always to have the same childhood innocence that would shelter him.
“We gather here today to celebrate, relieving the world of evil!” Lord Avalon, the emperor of Avalonia, yelled into the crowd. He stood on the stage inches away from Dom’s face. Unis leans closer to Dom and clutches her hand tighter. His eyes are closed, 
Lord Avalon stands in a powerful stance, His head hangs high, looking straight into the crowd. He wears a mask over his face, that only shows his mouth to be seen. The mask was giant with horns that points towards the sky. And his smile, made Dom’s skin crawl, same with the way he acted like it was a celebration to kill a person. 
He backs up, showing  Dom’s mother he holds a lit torch in his hand. Dom covers Unis’ already closed eyes. 
When her other goes up in flames, she looks down at her brother, trying to stay strong for him. He should learn from her to be strong, he _has_ to learn that to survive. But even so, Dom hates the idea of her brother learning how the world works; her brother is the embodiment of innocence she wished she didn’t have to give up so early. 
“Please!” She hears her mother cry from within the flames. Dom looks up, it has been so long since she had heard her mother’s voice.  She chokes back tears.
“_Don’t cry, Don’t cry,” _She pleas to herself.
“Mom…?” She pats Unis’ head trying to signal for him to be quiet, “Mom, I want to go home.”  She broke down hearing Unis call her Mom, when his real Mom stood at the burning stake. Dom had almost forgotten about the lie she had kept up for years, she was to him, his mom. She wants to keep it that way.
“Shh Unis, Shh, “ She pulls him into a hug, as tears ran down her cheeks, mixed with guilt and sadness.  Then nothing, it’s like the world slowed down, the tears stopped pouring, and her heart stopped racing. She stared at the fire, her mother has been engulfed and couldn’t be seen. In other words, she is finally dead, no longer feeling the burning pain. Dom knew her mom was dead, somehow.  She could just feel it.

Once the fire calms down, Lord Avalon stands before the flames. “Use this witch as a lesson, to avoid the evils in this world. For if you choose evil this shall be your fate, a fire, with you in the center, where you get stared at as the flames engulf you.”  
“Magic destroys families, relationships, everything, you wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would you?  This witch, _it_ had a family, two kids, and a good home, all of which were lost.”
Dom tries to hide herself, even if no one knows she is the witch’s family. But maybe Lord Avalon knows she is here. Dom starts to spiral going through all the possibilities, she had never heard Lord Avalon describe the witch before they were arrested, so there must be a reason, doesn’t there? 

“Those two kids are orphans now, do you want that for your kids?”  “Maybe this is just a way to guilt people,”  Dom thinks.  “Or it’s a warning.” “Imagine the kids, parents ripped away from them, while they are only young, forced to grow up too fast.” Dom felt her ears and cheeks turning red.  Lord Avalon was wrong about one thing, Unis wasn’t forced to grow up. Dom was, he wasn’t. How could he? He is only nine, and in his world, he has a Mom, a home, and friends. But Dom is twenty and has lied about her age since she was sixteen.  It worked because she looked older from the stress. She used to consider it a compliment, but now it feels awful. She is older than her years, much older.  “Leave this place, and remember the dangers, magic holds.” How could she forget the dangers magic holds, when magic killed her mom? Liar

CHAPTER ONE

Eden Tuesday, February 3 I wasn't the most normal person and even as an adult I'm still not.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted. I was sitting on the grass at the park, I had a graze on my knee from where Elizabeth Lewis decided right then was the time to push me over. I had a cut on my elbow and mud all over me. Tears were streaming down my face as she just stood there looking down on me as though I was the one who attacked her first and she was just defending herself. This was one of those moments I remembered as though it was yesterday, the answer to everything was right in front of me that day. I just wasn't the one allowed to see it. I can remember five year old me sitting there looking around, hoping an adult would see me and help but they all seemed to be oblivious towards my presence.

I looked Elizabeth in the eye and managed to find my courage, I grabbed onto the railings bordering off the park and pulled myself up. She glared at me, she looked like my cat preparing to pounce at his prey, which she did. I dodged her attempt to knock me back over and I ran forward. I looked back over my shoulder almost instantly to see if she was ok, but deep down I couldn't have cared less if she was sitting there crying. She stood up and gave me the most menacing look I had ever seen a seven year old commit to. She started chasing me down the field and into the ongrowing forest ahead of us. “Hey, come back!” I heard her voice call after me but I didn't listen. Why would I. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body as I ran.

The trees in the forest were either abnormally tall or I was just really, really short. They shadowed over all the plants below my feet. It was a dead end. My heart was beating out of my chest and my throat became sore very quickly as my breath stabbed it. I jolted to a stop, I had to catch myself before I fell into the nettles around me. I turned around to leave, thinking I had outrun Elizabeth but I was strongly mistaken. My heart was pounding, the air had gone crisp and I could see her ominous shadow emerging through the trees. She stopped about two feet in front of me and reached her arm out, snatching a twig off the tree to her left in an attempt to throw it at me, yet I fell to my knees and started crying before she could even aim her throw. Clearly scared of getting told off, she dropped the stick and made a run for it before anyone saw her with an injured five year old crying in a pile of dirt and nettles.

After a while I heard the leaves rustling ahead of me. It was Mum. She found me. I reached my arms out and she ran up to me, collapsed onto the floor and wrapped her arms around me. I didn't usually like hugs but this one was different, it made me feel safe. I could feel her warm breath brushing past my ear. She didn't say anything, she just cried, happy that I was safe.

 Many incidents like this one continued to happen. Things would happen to the trees or the first in general and I would hurt. Through the first week or so Mum thought I was just attention seeking but when I actually started getting visible injuries and waking up with random bruises and scratches on my body she did get a bit concerned. She also started to believe that the forest wasn't just affecting me, I was affecting it. Whenever I felt strong emotions like sadness it would rain.The first time that happened she ignored it and treated it as a coincidence, but then it happened again and all of a sudden I wasn't allowed out of her sight.

Her paranoia about me being somewhat magical started on my seventh birthday. Mum had invited, guess who, Elizabeth Lewis to our house for my party. She brought me a barbie doll that she had drawn on and cut its hair as a present. I'm guessing she did this with the intent to upset me but being given anything from Elizabeth was a blessing so I treasured the doll. Well, I treasured it for about the five seconds I had it. Elizabeth, after noticing I wasn't upset by this monstrosity of a gift, snatched it out of my hands and pulled its head off. I don't know why this angered me so much, I guess getting something other than a hand sized teddy and a card from Mum for my birthday gave me the feeling that I earned that doll, no matter how destroyed it was. I wanted to yell, I needed to yell, but what I knew was if I shouted at her I would be the one to get in trouble for yelling at the house guest and I would be the one embarrassed in the long run. So I put on my I don't care face so she didn't know it bothered me and I continued to play with the new teddy Mum got me.

That was until I heard Mum call me from the kitchen with a worried yet slightly angry tone in her voice. I walked in, Elizabeth trailing behind me. Mum was just standing there frozen to the spot, in one hand she was holding a wet plate and in the other a washcloth she was near to dropping.

“What's wrong?” I asked. Elizabeth was standing there next mimicking the exact same confused face as I had. Mum put the plate down on the kitchen counter and raised her hand to point out the window. She opened her mouth to talk, then proceeded to close it again instantly. I slowly edged myself towards her and pushed myself against the counter and onto my tiptoes in order to see what she was pointing at out the window. It was snowing. This was a bit strange as it suddenly started snowing with no warning. What made it even more strange was how it's the middle of summer. All Elizabeth could see at that point was both of our blank faces staring out the window. She didn't understand what all the fuss was about so she came over to look. Hungry for attention she glanced at me and started crying as though it was me who magically made it start snowing. Startled by the noise of Elizabeth's high pitched wails Mum went over, and comforted her until her parents arrived to pick her up. I felt like an outcast in my own home. The place you are meant to feel safe and comforted in made me feel like a monster. I took a step back from them and ran upstairs into my room.

 Weeks had passed and Mum was still convinced I caused it to snow. I was being homeschooled in our garden, when the weather was nice, because Elizabeth went to school the next day and told everyone I made it snow. I didn't mind that, but I did mind being repetitively referred to as Elsa. In order to homeschool me full time so I had a decent education Mum had to quit her day job, she now worked night shifts as a veterinary nurse.

I was relaxing in the living room playing one of those AI games that come with sky tv when I heard a key turn in the front door. I had been watching too many scary movies, for my age, and I started panicking that some guy was going to break in and shoot me with lasers or something. Mum walked through the living room and opened the door for the person as it is very stiff and difficult to open sometimes.

“Hi, Hugh.” She said moving to the side to clear the way for him to come in, “You can make yourself comfortable in the living room, i’ll go make us some drinks.” She disappeared around the corner of the hallway gesturing to me to follow her. I grabbed the remote off the wooden coffee table and pressed the off button before getting up and following her into the kitchen. “I'm going to be having a…” She paused for a moment, “A meeting! Yes, I am having a meeting with Hugh so why don't you play in the garden for a while.” She spoke unusually fast and pushed me carefully through the back door so I would leave. It wasn't the first time she had a meeting and I wasn't allowed to be within ear shot so I was used to it by then. Every time this happened I tended to pick flowers and collect bugs by our pond. I stopped doing that though when I fell in and Mum had to come fish me out because I couldn't swim yet. I got bored very quickly at that age, and I still do, so I took one look at the trees ahead and decided I was going to try and climb them. It only took me twenty minutes, a scratched arm and a bruised leg to realise that nothing I ever did went to plan.

I walked through the backdoor and into the kitchen so I could grab a plaster from the cupboard to stop my arm bleeding. Milo arched his back as he rubbed his side against my ankle purring away like the lion he is. The air from the open backdoor blew the living room door open. I could hear every word that Mum and Hugh were saying, they were long complicated words for anyone at my age to understand. I peeked my head around the corner ever so slightly so they didn't see me and listened in on every word I understood. She had been having these meetings for months and every time she had one I was sent outside, I couldn't help but believe it was about me.

Usually when I would come in from outside I would see her sitting on the sofa with her head in her hands, but this time it was different. She was nodding along to everything Hugh was saying.

I heard them say my name multiple times commonly followed by the word ‘forest’ and the phrase ‘is cursed’. I had read enough books to understand what that meant and I was definitely not cursed. I felt a deep regret towards listening in on their conversation, if I knew it would have left me annoyed and angry I would have stayed in the garden away from them. I looked around the corner of the door wanting to know why they were talking about me, and I wasn't going back outside until I knew. It was bad enough they were talking about me and I was uninformed about it, it was even worse that this guy had the audacity to call me cursed and have my own mother agree with him.

“So I'm cursed?” I met eyes with both of them as I walked into the living room. I tried my hardest to sound calm but the words still came out with an angry tone.

“No! That's not what we said at all,” Mum raised from her seat and started walking towards me. She grabbed my arm and walked me back outside, “This is why I told you to stay outside, you won't understand what we are saying.”She sat me down on the log and started heading inside.

(Almost the whole of the first chapter, word limit made it shorter 😔)

This is from a book I started writing three years ago, its cringe, im aware, leave me alone 💀

It started off with a gullible, weak, not that smart, little girl, who believed in princesses, faries, mermaids, and unicorns. The older she got, the more she changed and went through trials and tribulations throughout her life. She learned from the troubles she went through. They were hard and at one point she broke and became depressed but that didn’t stop her. She kept fighting. Now, is where the real story starts, with a girl who super smart, brave, so strong. Who knows the difference between real things and pretend things. A girl who was able to pick up her broken pieces with the help of her close family and Jesus.