Just shy of a year had passed since the night I watched my home burn. I still recalled the event so vividly, as if it had only happened yesterday.
I tried to forget, I longed to wash the memories from my mind, but it was impossible. Even now, there were times I could still smell those awful smells, and most nights came with nightmares of the experience.
My parents never came, nor had my brother.
I stayed curled in my bed for weeks, my eyes fixated on the door, waiting for them to come through the door and tell me everything was okay. I only ever moved in order to find myself food and water.
At first, I told myself they were still back in Willow Lake, trying to repair the damage done. They just needed a few more days before they came for me, once they knew it was safe.
However, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Now I was in the safe house alone, hunting small animals, picking wild berries, and drinking water from the lake nearby.
I’d wondered if I should go back to the village, but apart of me was too afraid of what I might find. I was young and defenseless, and if I’d run into trouble, I would have been as good as dead.
Another part of me felt that if I left, it would be that moment they return, and I would miss them. My family told me to stay, so that’s what I did. However, one year on, it was becoming too much to stay here, especially with my birthday coming soon.
It was mine and Zach’s sixteenth birthday in only two weeks, and it would be the first birthday I spent without my family, without my twin.
The thought shattered my already broken heart, leaving pieces scattered in places where I’d never find them again.
Turning sixteen in our village used to be a tremendous ordeal. At least, for Zach and the other children.
The children born into the coven got a small taste of their magic at the age of ten. After then, the powers would slowly begin to grow and develop until the child became full-fledged Warlocks at sixteen. It was on our sixteenth birthday, the power’s we’d gained in our previous years blossomed into full fruition.
Our powers were our battery life, however. Every time we used our abilities, it would drain us. You could comfortably live to be over one hundred if you rarely used; yet, you could also die well before thirty if you abused them.
That was, except for me. I never gained powers, unlike my twin brother.
I was not even supposed to have been born. Typically the families would only bare one child, a boy. It was only the men who held the powers; the women were pagans or human.
However, for reasons we were unsure of, my mother had fallen pregnant with Zachariah and me.
For years our village had been terrified of me, so much so, my father built a safe house to hide us away. My grandfather, who was head of the coven, was forced to call us into exile by the other families. They tried to sway him to have me executed, but he wouldn’t allow that, and he insisted we waited to see if I gained powers, too.
Our coven had been afraid because, in all our history, which backdated to the early fourteen hundreds, there was only one other female born. She had grown to be far more powerful than any other witch and turned rogue.
In the early eighteen hundreds, she’d rallied a small army and fought against our covens nine bloodlines. The war had obliterated our previous settlement and forced survivors to move and rebuild.
When the war had ended, only four survived the Popes, the Williams, the Edwards, and finally, my family, The Davenports.
She had even watched as she burned her mother and father alive in a fire that was darker than the night sky, so I was told. While other Warlocks had been known to turn bad, none had been as evil as she had been.
She was assumed dead after a mighty fight arose between her and my ancestors. Although my ancestors, Harry, and Georgeson's bodies had been discovered, hers wasn’t.
For a long while, everyone feared she lived; however, years passed, and our coven relaxed. If she had survived, she’d surely have died after time.
Yet, when my parents fell pregnant with Zach and me, the fears arose again.
Twins had never appeared in our history, and I was the first female born since Elizabeth, The Rogue One. I was also born as a Davenport, the strongest of the families, and the coven leaders.
However, my powers never came to be, so, just a week after my tenth birthday, we left the cabin and rejoined our coven.
For four years, I lived with my family and friends, living life as an ordinary child. That was until they came, the Vampires. Now, I was alone, without a family, my friends, and without a home.
I threw my minimal belongings into a fabric sack I’d fashioned out of a deer’s skin — a little food and a canister of water along with a compass.
I couldn’t stay in the safe house anymore; being here had become too hard.
Even a year on, I still found myself desperately wanting them to walk through the door. Each day that passed broke my already shattered heart a bit further, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I feared I’d have no heart left to break if I did not find a way to move on.
I needed to start a new life as a human. I decided to go live my life the way I knew my family would have wanted me to.
I had no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do. All I knew is that I wanted to see my home one last time, say a final goodbye, and leave it all behind me to start anew.