Witches shouldn’t have to grow old. It’s an embarrassment really that even with all this power, I can’t make a mirror worship me! Megan waved her hands in frustration. Earlier, her reflection boasted a flawless skin with big round emerald green eyes, small nose, and plump lips that sat perfectly on a glowing dusky tone. Now, signs of aging had caught up with her. Absentmindedly, Megan pressed her index and middle fingers over her crow’s feet, as if the very act would smooth away the wrinkles. She despised her drooping eyebrows, hallowing cheeks, and sagging skin. With a deep, she picked up a black bed sheet and threw it over her mirror.

“Kept you bright, taut, and young enough for so long, you ungrateful witch!” The hurt in his eyes was not lost on Megan, and she gave a self-satisfied smirk which irked him to no end. Tossing her long golden tresses out of her face, she grabbed her umbrella and headed out of her cottage. The only place where she would find even an ounce of solace was Cocam Sands beach. Whenever things went south, Megan loved reminiscing the past. Royal Amping was her town, and she loved it to the core. After all, her great grandmother saved the town from extinction.

Royal Amping was a small town famous for its breathtaking scenery. The picturesque seaside cottages appealed to all and sundry. Every evening, Cocam Sands beach turned into a bustle of activities. The young crowd flocked on the shacks drinking, flirting, and flaunting their dance moves. Meanwhile, nature lured creative minds with a spectacular display of colors. A vivid splash of orange against the amber blue sky promised an exquisite evening. Green palm trees on the white sand complemented each other magnificently. There is nothing that I do not love about this place.

Royal Amping was the only place that embraced witches when everywhere else we were being burnt to ashes. Well, at least those butchers thought they were burning us. Ha! Freaks! We could have wreaked havoc on them with just a snap of our fingers. Nobody, except angels and demons, could face old witches. In their wisdom, however, The Witches Council chose to silently disappear from the epicenters of chaos. If it were up to me, I would have fought tooth and nail for my rights. I would have saved those helpless women, whom psychotic men burned for their own selfish greed. Those were ambitious and strong women, who refused to succumb to those vicious men’s desires. Obviously, that attribute both scared and enraged those men.

The Witches Council comprised, and still does, of the most powerful witches of all time. Although some witches were against the idea of running away, they could not openly disobey the council. Nevertheless, there were no rules against claiming territory for themselves. Indeed, the council had only ordered the witches to withdraw from those places, where humans were burning “witches” alive. That decision makes my blood boil. How could they just turn their backs on those defenseless ladies while they were branded as witches? And brutally punished for being different.

Anyway, my ancestors flew far and beyond but could never find a better place than earth. Subsequently, my great grandmother, Clea, stumbled upon Royal Amping. As smitten as she was with the place, she could not smell fear in its air. The town was eerily quiet. The moment she flew closer, she witnessed the most disturbing site ever. Wild animals were openly feasting on human flesh. Half-burned bodies of men of various ages covered the blood-stained ground. Perhaps, humans are at it again — burning people by branding them as witches/warlocks. She thought to herself. Instead of turning her back from the chaos, she decided to visit the king of the land.

The royal palace under a protection spell. Clea was one of the elite witches. The title came with immense knowledge and formidable power. If the royals were hurting their own subject, Clea was not the one to let them get away with the massacre. Infuriated beyond words, she chanted the words hurriedly. Within seconds, the royal palace broke free of the spell. With just a slight wave of her fingers, the imperial gates of the palace flew open. Queen Alena walked behind the royal sorceress, Hyathis. Clea never forgot the look of apprehension that clouded the queen’s pale face. Before either of the women could speak a word, Hyathi nodded for Clea to follow her. She had seen many palaces but the grandeur of Queen Alena’s palace was astounding. After passing many chambers and climbing up and down numerous staircases, they finally reached a dungeon.

“Evil witches! Your people have been slaughtering my people. If it weren’t for Hyathi’s protective spell, I would have been dead too. They marched into our peaceful town and killed our children and men. They have captured our female population to a place unknown to any of us,” she snickered at her own statement and continued, “Even if we had known the location, little good would that have done us. We can’t face those witches. Your witches! Hyathi is a sorceress, but she is powerless in front of your kind. Now, you answer me, witch! Why did your kind butcher my people?” The fire had returned to the queen’s eyes. Suddenly, she appeared taller than earlier.