The Witching Hours

chapitre quatre

"By the pricking of my thumbs,

 something wicked this way comes"

1463  *play the song from 1:25*

Whispers of darkness flickered around the candle lights. 

The moon light shone through the stained-glass windows. The stone castle lay dormant among the night. The birds were silent, as if they too, knew this night would not be disturbed. The trees swayed together, in a an unending waltz to the music of the wind. The same wind that flowed around the castle, wobbling fingers caressing the cold stone, looking for cracks, and dents in this armour. 

Light flickered in the windows, illuminating the rooms from within.The cold drifts travelled in slow, sensual movements through the long , empty corridors. The only source of warmth for miles in this large territory. Rich tapestries covered walls, and severe painted eyes, from long forgotten faces, followed the comings and goings of this wind. And still, it kept going up, and up. Slithering up the stairs, unrelenting in its pursuit to sate its curiosity, twisting and turning as it willed. 

The wind followed to the source of the uneasiness. Heavy closed oak doors, from which only a glimpse of light passed underneath. The wind's long reaching arms, slipped inside, having found the castle's sole occupant. A man of unremarkable features, sat on an armchair. Dark eyes that seemed to focus solemnly on the fire before him. A smooth metal cup in his hands caught the reflection of the flames, casting dancing patterns on the walls.

This man sat in silence. An almost peaceful look on his face, betrayed only by the deep sadness in his eyes, invisible to everyone but himself. Deep wounds that marred his soul, left in tatters, inside. The dark liquid swirled in the cup, delicate movements made by a warm, sullied hand. 

Something quite like paint, dripped  form his long fingers. Droplets hitting the tapestries, with intermittent soft thumps. The man raised the cup to this mouth, crimson liquid staining his lips. He did not sneer nor smile. He looked as if in blissful serenity.

A dark force stirred inside these walls, something the wind remembered all to well. It shrinks away from this room, and flees outside towards safety. If the wind were more, it would send an alarm, a warning to all those who could listen. But the wind is but the wind and nothing more, and no one would listen to its cries.

Not far from his feet, a once beautiful woman slept. A red necklace hung around her neck, leaking softly onto the floor. Her blue eyes stared stared aimlessly at the fire, the fear once there is gone. Her mouth was open in one final exhalation. Some semblance of warmth still clung to her. She would stay there, asleep for an eternity.

The man drank some more.

***

2017

Tahlia sat on the chair next to the bed. The young Witch slept soundly next to her, as if the events from the past hour had never been. Tahlia kept her back straight, thoughts running wild in her mind. The presence had unnerved her. It had unsettled in a way she had never experience. Something had come into her land, her house and attacked one of her witches.

She did not recognise it. It was old and powerful, and so incredibly angry. Something that had been wronged long ago, and sought revenge. But it would not find it here. By the gods, she would protect the Circle with her life.