Black Magic

The light shines through the barred window as the sun sets from another long, and wretched day. The night begins to take over as the last of the sun's rays fall behind the trees as if sucking the light from our limited view. We are not allowed outside when the light brightens our world; it was against England's law. Out of the rest of us left, there happened to be the decent ones. The king considers us slaves since the war with our parents.

Although they hid us well, they could not hide us forever.

I was only eight, the middle child of my friends. Most witches in the cells, down in the dungeons, did not let their children play with one another, afraid that the guards would see and tell the king. They would think he would assume we were conspiring against him. We've become weak and fearful of the humans since the day I lost my parents. The day the king locked my friends and me away in the dungeons.

Most of us witches are good, it was just the handful of the bad ones that had given the king the impression all witches should be locked up and tortured. I heard from Lorelei, some friend of my mother's, the king had once liked witches until he allowed his youngest son to play with some. She said the king must have not known about the small one's parents practicing the dark voodoo. She also told my mother the witch had no experience with his magic and purposefully blinded the boy. I couldn't hear the rest of what they said because my father had come home suddenly.

Ever since his youngest son was "playing" with a young witch that had no experience with his powers, had blinded him, he made sure all witches, good and bad, were either hanged, drowned, publicly humiliated, or locked down in the dungeons.

My mother and father were hanged.

The king's law is a very harsh one for that matter.

Most kids in our coven were looked after by other witches because their parents had died. I was only four, half my age now, when I was abandoned. When I was sent down here, I was given a mortal, as they like to think we call them, named Angel. She was only twice my own age and a servant of the king. She cared for us witches along with Bethany and Orchid. Angel was the only one who treated us like people instead of animals. She loved talking to the older witches and playing with the kids. She was, by far, my favorite mortal I had ever met.

Bethany and Orchid were the ones who would spit in our water and throw our food, if you call their "scraps" food, to the ground so that the rats could eat it before we got the chance to.

My heart hurt for the ones that had gotten stuck with the two red-headed, deviled twins. It did not seem fair for them to get so sick and dastardly people. They did nothing, yet they were punished. I was torn from being happy or sad my friends and I were given Angel. But, if anyone deserves to get Bethany or Orchid, it would be Nissa, Asha, and I.

We were the bad ones. The bad witches.

Our parents had made this book of spells to trick people into believing that they were good. The spell did not last too long for them, so they passed it on to us before they could die. The book is split into three pieces, just as a puzzle was. I know just by having bad parents does not make you evil, but we were born by evil.

Yes, we make our own fate; my mother always said that if I did not choose the right path, I would soon suffer the consequences. I just hoped that the three of us will be able to choose the right path for us to take.

There are three ways to tell if a witch is evil or not.

One; how they talk.

If they talk in riddles and confuse you, then they are most likely evil. They try to trick your mind and bend your will into thinking that they are right. They say words that do not mean a thing for either stalling you to cast a spell or for just their own amusement. They don't care whether they die along with you, but what they do care about is their broom.

Two; their broom.

When a witch turns ten, they magically have their broom. Supplies appear out of thin air and you have to make your broom yourself, as I've heard from my mother and father. Normally, when your parents have you, they cast a spell upon you for when you are at the age of ten to have the much-needed supplies to help make your broom. When a witch is turned bad, their broom turns dark and horrid, much like the witch's soul. You could say a broom reflects the soul of its maker.

Three; their jewels.

These jewels that witches wear are forever on their body. They are like ink marks on the skin; they do not ever come off. They can disappear and reappear, but only if the owner wants them to. You can have rings, bracelets, necklaces, etc. But what defines an evil which is the fact that they do not necessarily wear them. They can be sewn into the dress they wear or even inside their witch's hat.

Mother always told me that if I was ever to turn bad, that I need to always keep these things in mind so that I do not have the same fate as them; death.