A Witch's Choice; Part 1 by Cycy Smith

(Page 1 of 4)

(3 ratings)
Rate this Story (5 best)

 

This was not meant to happen.

She was a witch, dammit. A very powerful witch whose connection to earth was so strong that when she walked the land she felt her own footsteps as though the land itself was her body. A witch who could command the sea and make raindrops dance for her. A witch with all the strength and wisdom that her mother and grandmother had passed on to her, with a long line of women behind her, each with their own power.

So why was this happening to her? Why, with all her magic and her instinctive understanding of the natural world, was she in this state over a man? And not even a man of power, a male relation of witches. An ordinary human man and a not particularly attractive one at that. It didn't make sense. It defied rationality. It challenged everything she had ever believed about herself. And yet it was true. She was in love. With a human.

Restlessly Rowena paced the room, running her hands nervously through her heavy red hair. The room was, as usual, a tip. The floor was covered in clothes and books. A deck of tarot cards was scattered over the mess, its case nowhere in sight. The various crystals which usually lined up along one shelf lodged in odd corners of the room as though they had been chucked there by a whirlwind. Bottles containing strange smelling liquids covered every available surface, their labels proclaiming anything from headache cures to the active ingredient in a warding spell. Amongst the paraphernalia of her craft were evidences of normality, things which could have belonged to any young woman in her early twenties. Hairbrushes, make-up bags, glossy magazines all added to the general chaos.

I should really tidy up in here, Rowena thought, distracted for a moment from her pacing as she tripped over a large pile of dirty clothes. Her mother was always nagging her about the state of her room but the truth was she preferred it this way. It might be chaotic but she always knew where everything was (on the floor) and the familiar mess was strangely comforting. Anyway twenty-one was far too old to be nagged by your mother into tidying your room, especially when they didn't actually live in the same house anymore. Not that she had moved far. This land had been in her family for generations, passed down through the female line, and Rowena was currently living in the small cottage by the beach while her mother and grandmother shared the big house in the centre of the family land. Still moving out of the main house had been meant to give her some independence without actually leaving her ancestral home. Not that she got much independence when she still ate at the main house at least once a day and her mother and grandmother were constantly ‘checking up' on her.

Just another thing to worry about, another thing to add to her growing list of grievances. She loved her family dearly but the truth was she was beginning to feel more than slightly suffocated. Of course she was lucky, she knew that. There weren't many mothers who would never complain about whom their daughter was sharing her time, and her bed, with.

Next Page