Willow Creek is known for its aesthetics—a small, beautiful village where life flows smoothly. Everyday life is nothing but normal. Of course, there are the affluent and the impoverished. I'm somewhere in between.
I'm Olivia, a 19-year-old who lost her family to persecutors who claimed they dabbled in witchcraft. The village frowns upon witchcraft, and I detest witches myself. I find them abnormal, though I'm not sure why. Perhaps I'm just biased because the village burgess disapproves of them too. Why practice witchcraft? What's the purpose, the reason? My family was wrongfully indicted, hounded, and persecuted. I just want to live a normal, serene life, I guess.
The morning sun beamed upon my face as I rolled off my haystack. "Yes, what's in store for today?" I thought. Let's see how many eggs I can sell. After freshening up, eating my oatmeal, and setting off to the Market Square, a customer approached me. "Hey, Olivia, how much for three eggs?" "350 oinz, my dear sir," I replied.
The day went well—I sold more eggs than expected. At lunchtime, I decided to treat myself at the nearest tavern. Not even an hour later, the local village gossiper, Thierry, entered.
"Ye here, ye there! Come witness the persecution of the newly caught witches!" My heart instantly skipped a beat, and I felt anger rising in my chest. Apparently, a man had been judged guilty. The innards of the tavern dashed out just to witness the scene. Five unfortunate souls were already tied to the stake, ready to be immolated.
"I'm innocent! I didn't do anything; I swear on my life!" he pleaded. "Oh yeah? Don't worry, we'll be taking that life, you accursed foul bloke!" a young lady among the crowd retorted.
The remaining accused women stayed silent, refusing to defend themselves. "Burn them, burn them!" the angry crowd chanted, instigating the persecutors. On the verge of immolation, a young man in his 20s, covered in a dark grey cloak, halted the persecutors. "Hold it! That young man is innocent. You were about to commit a grave sin. Release him now, for he doesn't bear the witch's insignia," he declared. An insignia is a symbol only witches possess, like a crest or emblem embedded within their soul. Only those with the "gifted eye" can detect it, and apparently, this man was one of them.
The young man fled as soon as he was released. "Burn the rest!" commanded Sir Gabriel, and the persecutors eagerly complied.
I'm nineteen, and this was my first time witnessing the immolation of human beings. I watched as the flames consumed them. I may hate them, but they are still human. "Madam Tiana, who is that man?" I asked my trusted customer. "Oh, that's Gabriel, one of the gifted ones from the anti-witch Synod," she replied. "Thank you. Sorry for asking, but why does society hate witches? Is there such a thing as a good witch?" "Why do you ask? Are you one of them?" she teased, laughing. "No, no, I'm not!" I stammered. "Just teasing, dear. Society is simply how it is, but if you want to learn more, speak with Gabriel.
Oh, I must go! My children will be hungry, and their dad will scold me. Goodbye, Olivia, see you tomorrow."
Gabriel… what is he? His aura is inscrutable. I went home feeling unsettled. For nineteen years, witches had kept a low profile, but now I wanted answers. I needed to meet Gabriel. Days passed, my egg business thrived, and life seemed back to normal—or was it? I'd started having strange dreams. A woman kept appearing to me in a lucid dream, whispering words I couldn't understand. After a week, the dreams became more intense. One night, I finally heard her clearly.
"Olivia, the book… the book," she whispered. She knew my name. The dream was vivid. "Don't hate who you are. You are magic. Don't denigrate your heritage. You'll find your path in magic. My time is up, dear. Look for me where the dust settles. The truth will reveal itself, I'm high above, a dusty place, secrets beware, the truth would soon be clear, head towards me and yourself you shall be".
I woke up feeling at peace. Had her words given me a sense of purpose? Maybe dreams aren't just foolish, after all.
Time to feed the sheep, I thought, trying to shake off the dream. It was spring, so I could shear the wool and make extra money. I giggled, then headed toward the Market Square. The market was unusually busy. "Madam Tiana, what's going on?" I asked. "Take a guess," she replied. "Another witch sighting?" "Aha, you guessed right."
I rushed to the immolation ground, feeling a pang of guilt. Why must we kill them? Have they truly harmed us? I needed answers. A sharp gaze met mine, and a moment later, I was in Gabriel's abbey. His clear, crescent-shaped eyes seemed to pierce my almost broken heart.
"Sir Gabriel, please… why must we persecute them? They haven't harmed us! I know I'm just a rustic clodhopper, but they have families too… loved ones. Don't alienate them!" I pleaded, and without realizing, tears had tumble-weeded down my cheeks.
Gabriel's voice softened as he spoke. "I'm simply carrying out my assigned role. I brought you here to warn you: do not create a scene at the immolation ground! You are dismissed." As I turned to leave, he asked, "Are you one of them? You have those gifted eyes, don't you?" He chuckled. "I like you."
I left without looking back, my thoughts whirling. That night, as the gelid zephyr blew, I fell into a deep sleep. A bright light filled the room, awakening me. "What is this?" I wondered. Then I remembered—today was my twentieth birthday. "Happy birthday to me," I whispered. But then I noticed the light was effulging from my left wrist.
The light intensified and hemmed the whole room dazzling more like it was living I was in a state of juggled enthrallment and bewilderment after what felt like hours of being enchanted, a sage green, emerald-like color made up of inter-woven roots forming an insignia appeared on my wrist. My heart raced as I stared in awe. Oh my!