Jathy
08-07-2011, 05:16 PM
This one is part of a 100 themes challenge, the theme this time being... Love. I enjoyed writing it, thought I'd share it here as well.
Zephyra was a witch. In the time when she lived, witches were appreciated and needed. They were also very rare, so Zephyra’s mother was very proud. No one else in the family had been a magician since her great great great granddad or something, so she felt very privileged to have such a daughter.
Zephyra was beautiful as a butterfly, her smile warming like the sun. Her personality shone through her eyes in the same calming way. Not one could dislike her. So yes, Zephyra’s mother was pretty pleased. There was just this one thing that bothered her. Zephyra’s favourite thing to do was not practice her magical skills. No, it was making up stories. And not just any kind of stories; they were love stories. Whatever she was doing that she didn’t need to actually pay attention to, she was daydreaming, making up the most wonderful, enchanting stories.
It annoyed her mother quite a lot. Silly love stories were not for young witches. It was for no-lifers. Her daughter was definitely not a no-lifer.
It was a cold day in the dead of winter, dark as the regions of Hades. It was also very quiet, most of the wild life, plants included, hibernating. The only sound was the sound of falling snow, and it was plenty enough inspiration for Zephyra and her fantasies. She was done with all the chores of the day, so she sat in the middle of their garden, a huge, snow-covered field. The cold didn’t bother her, since the powerful magic flowing through her very veins kept her comfortable. Far, far away in her own, dreamy world as she was, she did not notice her mother’s approach, nor her voice before it became irritated and shrill. Surprised, she lifted her head to find that she was being glared at.
“Are you lost in your useless fantasy world again?” Her mother’s face was a tight mask, and her tone matched.
“But mother,” Zephyra replied kindly. “It’s such a lovely one, this. The princess is close to rescuing her prince, and they will live happily ever after!” She smiled widely, but her mother was not impressed.
“Fairytales are for kids. I have had enough. You are going to Jotifa.”
Zephyra was utterly shocked. Jotifa was a very old, foul witch, or so it was said. But she was also the very best. She lived many, many miles away. While Zephyra was pondering this, her mother went and wrote a letter for Jotifa. In the envelope she included more than enough payment for treatment and teaching of her reckless daughter. After kissing her daughter on the forehead, she sent her away on the healthiest horse they had, the envelope placed safely under Zephyra’s shirt. All alone, the mother could only wait and hope.
It took days and days, but never did Zephyra get lost. She knew the way, without ever having been taught it. Was she hungry or thirsty, she would simply conjure up anything she wanted. All the way there she was making up more and more amazing, intriguing love stories.
After a week or so, she felt that she was getting very close. Jotifa had sensed her coming as well. The snow was getting deeper, the surroundings gloomier. Suddenly, a square-ish shape appeared far ahead, and the horse started speeding up a bit, encouraged by the thought of finally getting shelter.
In the doorway of the big ramshackle hut was a little chubby lady. Zephyra was very relieved to see that Jotifa did not have a wart on her nose, just like the children stories predicted that grown up witches would get. She handed the old woman the envelope, and Jotifa took out the letter with a suspicious glance at Zephyra. Apparently it was a very long letter, or maybe Jotifa was just a slow reader. Either way, Zephyra felt like she stood a long time, pending. For once she was not absorbed in fantasy. No, she was truly curious to see the other witch’s reaction.
Jotifa finished reading and slowly looked up at Zephyra. Her expression was very stern, almost like a mother’s. “Love…,” she started in a serious tone with a rasping voice. Zephyra knew she could not doubt whatever came out of Jotifa’s mouth next. Whatever the words might be it would be completely true, and something she would have to accept.
“… is the greatest kind of magic.”
Zephyra was a witch. In the time when she lived, witches were appreciated and needed. They were also very rare, so Zephyra’s mother was very proud. No one else in the family had been a magician since her great great great granddad or something, so she felt very privileged to have such a daughter.
Zephyra was beautiful as a butterfly, her smile warming like the sun. Her personality shone through her eyes in the same calming way. Not one could dislike her. So yes, Zephyra’s mother was pretty pleased. There was just this one thing that bothered her. Zephyra’s favourite thing to do was not practice her magical skills. No, it was making up stories. And not just any kind of stories; they were love stories. Whatever she was doing that she didn’t need to actually pay attention to, she was daydreaming, making up the most wonderful, enchanting stories.
It annoyed her mother quite a lot. Silly love stories were not for young witches. It was for no-lifers. Her daughter was definitely not a no-lifer.
It was a cold day in the dead of winter, dark as the regions of Hades. It was also very quiet, most of the wild life, plants included, hibernating. The only sound was the sound of falling snow, and it was plenty enough inspiration for Zephyra and her fantasies. She was done with all the chores of the day, so she sat in the middle of their garden, a huge, snow-covered field. The cold didn’t bother her, since the powerful magic flowing through her very veins kept her comfortable. Far, far away in her own, dreamy world as she was, she did not notice her mother’s approach, nor her voice before it became irritated and shrill. Surprised, she lifted her head to find that she was being glared at.
“Are you lost in your useless fantasy world again?” Her mother’s face was a tight mask, and her tone matched.
“But mother,” Zephyra replied kindly. “It’s such a lovely one, this. The princess is close to rescuing her prince, and they will live happily ever after!” She smiled widely, but her mother was not impressed.
“Fairytales are for kids. I have had enough. You are going to Jotifa.”
Zephyra was utterly shocked. Jotifa was a very old, foul witch, or so it was said. But she was also the very best. She lived many, many miles away. While Zephyra was pondering this, her mother went and wrote a letter for Jotifa. In the envelope she included more than enough payment for treatment and teaching of her reckless daughter. After kissing her daughter on the forehead, she sent her away on the healthiest horse they had, the envelope placed safely under Zephyra’s shirt. All alone, the mother could only wait and hope.
It took days and days, but never did Zephyra get lost. She knew the way, without ever having been taught it. Was she hungry or thirsty, she would simply conjure up anything she wanted. All the way there she was making up more and more amazing, intriguing love stories.
After a week or so, she felt that she was getting very close. Jotifa had sensed her coming as well. The snow was getting deeper, the surroundings gloomier. Suddenly, a square-ish shape appeared far ahead, and the horse started speeding up a bit, encouraged by the thought of finally getting shelter.
In the doorway of the big ramshackle hut was a little chubby lady. Zephyra was very relieved to see that Jotifa did not have a wart on her nose, just like the children stories predicted that grown up witches would get. She handed the old woman the envelope, and Jotifa took out the letter with a suspicious glance at Zephyra. Apparently it was a very long letter, or maybe Jotifa was just a slow reader. Either way, Zephyra felt like she stood a long time, pending. For once she was not absorbed in fantasy. No, she was truly curious to see the other witch’s reaction.
Jotifa finished reading and slowly looked up at Zephyra. Her expression was very stern, almost like a mother’s. “Love…,” she started in a serious tone with a rasping voice. Zephyra knew she could not doubt whatever came out of Jotifa’s mouth next. Whatever the words might be it would be completely true, and something she would have to accept.
“… is the greatest kind of magic.”