Celestial Sisters

Please Read: Part II

So my eyes have made a tremendous recovery and I am slowly readapting to the normal 'seeing' world again. I no longer have to use voiceover on my phone and I can make out the comments and read the stories with my own eyes again even though it is a little blurry. With that said, I have taken such a long break from this story I do not where to even pick up and nor do I have the energy to do so as I go through the readjustment period. However, I do not want to abandon this story completely as I have done for some of my other stories such as Hunting the Witch Hunter, Atlantic Bay Gang and Immortal Sins. So I will be offering a contest of sorts, if anyone would like to write the last three chapters of the story please pm. I will give you the concept I had for the ending I will let you take it in any direction you want. If no one wants to do that though, then I will need more time before I can bring myself back into the world.

I have a problem, which a lot of authors face on wattpad, where I start out feeling really passionate about a project but then the passion either dies off or something gets in the way disrupting the process. The Nox Haven series was something I was so passionate about, it was my entire life and I really miss that authentic joy I received from writing those books. I think the large driving force behind writing those books was that I could write the story at my own pace, without any deadlines or pressure. I think in order for me to write a book again that comes anywhere near The Dark Witch, in regards to the emotional connection I share with it, I will need to write a story in its entirety before putting it on wattpad.

There is a good part to all of this rambling because I have already started writing a story. I will give you guys a little snippet and maybe a few teasers throughout the process but I am going to take my time with this one and not rush it because I don't want to be disappointed in it like I have felt with so many of my other stories.

I hope you all understand and thank you for all the support that you have given me while I was visually inhibited.

Here is the teaser for my book in the works, The Others:

There are three steps:

First, the blood test.

Second, the aptitude test.

And then, third, the changing.

Three clear, plastic vials sat on top of my mother's beloved glass coffee table. It was that same table, in which I was grounded for three weeks for placing a chilled beverage on the glass without a coaster. Now, it held three of 2 ounces of my blood. The third and last ounce was being pulled from my arm by a frail, old man, with a large twisting mustache. He wore a white lab coat and a light blue surgical mask that hung around his neck, as he poked at my arm, searching for a good and rather juicy vein. My mother watched through her red, crescent-shaped spectacles which dangled on the bridge of her nose, while nervously biting her painted nails.

Finally, after what felt like eternity of prodding, the doctor found a vein to his liking and plunged the needle into my flesh. Greedily, he sucked the last ounce of my blood into the chamber of the syringe and emptied its contents into the final vial. The latex gloves snapped as he pulled them off, one by one. His lips were thinned into a hard line, at least I believed they were, it was hard to see with the small rodent clinging to his upper lip. My mother finally seemed to snap free from her frozen state of mind and walked over to the couch where I sat, perched on the edge. My knee bobbed as I waited for the doctor to speak. But he cleaned his tools and neatly tucked them back into his metal briefcase, wordlessly. He fiddled with his jacket, revealing the official United States Government seal embroidered on his right coat pocket and handed my mother a white sheet of paper. The receipt.

"This should take about a month to process. You'll get back the results on her birthday," he glanced down at his clipboard, "November 12th."

My mother folded the paper and slipped it into her jean pocket. Putting it not only out of sight but out of mind, at least for another month.

"You have other children, correct?" The doctor raised one long, gray brow. My mother nodded reluctantly, her copper curls bounced ever so slightly as they fought against the layers of hairspray.

"Yes, two. Christine and Gavin."

Looking up, through the bronze fringe of my bangs, I stared at the family portrait hanging above the fireplace. My father sat beside my mother, their hands folded neatly on their laps, and pale faces twisted with forced smiles. Christine and Gavin sat in front of our parents, in their matching school uniforms- blue sweaters with khakis pants. An eagle was embroidered over the patch above their hearts. They were kids when the painting was commissioned, no older than four or maybe five, and I had yet to be born. I was born nine months later but the portrait would not be changed.

Christine claimed it was the last memory of the 'Glory Days.'

"Then I'm sure you understand that there is nothing to worry about. Only 1 out of every ten children contain the gene, this is simply standard protocol. Every child, one month before their sixteenth birthday must be tested. As you know it is better to be safe than sorry."

"It's the law," My mother walked the doctor to the door.
She offered him a final word of parting before slamming the door behind his back and slumping against the wall.

Standing off to the side, I cradled my bruised arm to my chest and scoured my brain for something to say. Anything. But my mind was filled with what felt like static, and I couldn't think straight. At least I couldn't think with my heart raging in my chest and with my palms quivering, and laced with sweat. The doctor's words echoed in my mind, "this is simply standard protocol," and my mother's murmured statement, "it's the law." I knew all about the mandated blood test. Throughout my entire life, I had watched teenagers send three ounces of their blood to Government labs, where they would be tested and then, hopefully rejected. And while most of the kids at school claimed that it was easy and nothing to sweat about, I found myself terrified. Tormented by the silly question, what if.

"Now, we wait." My mother seemed to muster her strength, as she stepped away from the wall and stumbled towards the kitchen. She left me with, "I need a drink," and then disappeared.

I don't know what I expected from her, certainly not a comforting hug or even a glance of pity but as the seconds ticked by, I couldn't help but feel completely and utterly alone. There was nothing else for me to do and truthfully I knew that in the end, she was right. So, I waited.