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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Fantasy · #2249338
The quest to become a witch is nearly completed.
The iridescent wings shone in her hand. Their colors were shifting seamlessly, as she gently twisted her wrist back and forth to experiment with the angle. With eyes transfixed on her loot, she let steam and smoke flow past her; it caressed her face with warmth, as the pot on the fire released its bubbling content in wafts of mystery. Desipte her skills as a potions brewer, the concoction was made primarily from a base she'd bought in Murndale. Her visit to that hotspot of darkarts had been perilous, yet luckily also successful. She'd returned with her purchased goods, such as the potions base... and with her stolen goods: the wings.

Five years had passed since she had started this process of becoming a fullfledged witch. The rejection from the coven still smarted. An ugly twist in her stomach brought acid to her throat whenever she thought of it, leaving no room for the naïvety of her youth. She knew now that she would never be accepted for her skills as a brewess; she would have to aquire the ability to perform magic without the assistance of sources outside of herself.

Unlike the others, however, such things did not seem to befall her naturally. Never one to accept defeat, she had worked relentlessly in the shadows ever since, to find a way to usurp the power in the natural world around her. And now she had finally reached the last stage. The fragile wings in her hand were still glowing with the soft light of the Trecea butterfly's magic. The delicate, yet powerful creature would provide the source of magic that she needed. When she infused the wings in the potion, she would drink it, and finally possess the magic abilities she had always dreamt of. Stolen magic. It would have been scandalous...if anyone knew.

As the bubbling in the cauldron reached a stable simmer, she extended her hand, and tipped the precious contents into the liquid. For a second all was still. Her breath caught in her throat, as the bubbling ceased, and she stared unblinkingly at the still surface. The vapours in the room seemed to disappear in a subtle, yet unmistakable frission of magic. An unfamiliar pool of joy started spreading from the pit of her stomach, overtaking the bitter tension she had carried for so long. As the surface shifted from a inconspicous grey to a gentle, iridescent mother of pearl, she knew she had succeeded.

All that remained was to drink her concoction. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath for a moment. Then she released it, and got back to work with newfound determination. Ladling a suitable amount of potion into a cup, she straightened her back in her sitting position, ready to drink.

Just as she let the first sip pass from the cup to her mouth, there was a sudden commotion behind her. A mighty blast splintered her door to pieces, as several people barged into her room in a flurry. Unwilling to be distracted, she tried to focus on continuing to drink the potion, despite the shockwaves going through her body. Her attempt was quickly thwarted, as strong hands grabbed her arms, and wrenched the cup away from her. She gaped in rage and disbelief.

A tingling sensation on her lips and the very tip of her tongue kept her distracted, still unwilling to engage with the guards who had seased her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the barrage of intruding sensory impressions, and tried to feel if the tingling would grow and spread. Only a few drops of potion had passed her lips, but she refused to give up hope.

The gentle tingling turned to more insistent prickling, but as she tried to swallow the precious remnants of liquid down with more saliva, all she felt was a bitter taste, petering out along her tongue. Soon, the prickling in her arms from the guards' strong grip as they pulled her along, out of the room, far overshadowed the fading prickling on her tongue. A feeling of defeat overcame her, as she was brought further and further away. Now all she could taste was the old familiar acid.

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