A Witch's Curse

Chapter 1

            Rosalin Seranin ran through the forest as fast as her limbs would let her. All she was able to take with her was a small sack of her belongings. The villagers had attacked the small cottage she lived in. They chased after her when they figured out what she was. A witch.

            They had chased her out of countless places, more than she could count. The humans hated they did not have the extra four-hundred years that witches did. And the magic, they hated the magic. So they burned the witches, alive. Rosalin's own sister, Keila, was burned. They were the first targeted in the town. Rosalin had gotten away, thanks to her sister's sacrifice. 

            Rosalin bounded over branches and fallen trees with immortal ease. She could outrun them, but how far would they go to kill the witch living amongst them. She wouldn't be surprised if the women she had befriended resented her and sent their husbands after her. She had made it six months without being discovered. One woman had been coming to her house and caught her using a small bit of magic to heat the cottage. Rosalin had turned to see her and smiled, only to see her face pale and frightened. The lady ran out shrieking. It had only seemed like seconds then she when she looked out the window there was people coming towards her house. 

             Keila was old enough to have her own coven. But they had disappeared after things went bad. Though Rosalin wasn't old enough to have one, she dreamed of having actual friends that could know the truth. There were slim chances she was going to find one now. A witch's coven is eight other witches that would stay together. They would protect each other and learn from each other. A witch coven was like sisters, stronger in some ways. But she had given up on finding one when she turned twenty-five. Most find one when they are sixteen. Not her. She was thirty-seven but looked still twenty. The burnings started happening when she was twelve. Keila died at nineteen, so she had a coven for three years. She half wondered if they were still alive or if they got caught. Rosalin's mother had died of a wasting sickness that only witches of great power could cure. Neither Keila, Rosalin, or their mother were that powerful. At least not yet. Keila had been thirteen, and Rosalin six when she died. So Keila had taken care of her. She hated recalling the past when her mother and sister died. It made her angry, and that could get her killed. So she kept going on.

            She ran until she couldn't go any farther. Setting up the camp was something she was used to. She had to pick the twigs and leaves out of her black hair that fell past her waist. It wasn't the hair that caught people off-guard when they see her, it was her eyes. A lovely green. Like emeralds, her mother had said. And then the light scattering of freckles across her pale face, mostly on her nose and under her eyes. Honestly, she was stunning, just as her sister had been. Keila had golden hair that fell just past her slim shoulders. And violet eyes. A blue at far away, but when they caught the light they were a jaw-dropping beautiful purple. She didn't have any freckles like Rosalin. Keila didn't need them. 

          Rosalin knew magic. She didn't have a wand, she didn't melt from water, and she didn't use spells like in the fairytales. Witches were born with magic that you could turn into anything so long as you learned how. She was taught by Keila mostly, their mother hadn't really taught her more than the basics. She knew how to put an illusion up. That's just what she did. She held her hands out and the air shimmered and her camp vanished into the giant tree. She walked forward and walked into the tree to reveal her camp. Most people would stop before the tree. Unless it was another witch, who would be able to undo the magic as easily as putting it up. She was hidden. Unfortunately, she had to use this trick often. Every time she was caught she had to use an illusion for her camp. She pulled out berries and bread from her pack. Dinner was not as tasty as usual but better than nothing. She would go out to a tavern tomorrow, or if she was lucky, another town. She would head out at first light.