"Hello? Nay? Tay? It's me, Priscilla! I'm home. I brought your favorite bread, remember?" Priscilla's voice echoed through the empty house, each unanswered ring twisting her stomach into knots. "Please answer, Nay? Tay?"
She sank onto the worn wooden bench by the door, fear prickling her skin. "They wouldn't just ignore me," she whispered, clutching the loaf of bread tightly. "Especially not when I brought their favorite..."
A flicker of suspicion ignited in her eyes. The townspeople. They'd been muttering about her parents lately, accusing them of all sorts of terrible things. "They wouldn't..." Priscilla shook her head, dismissing the thought. Her parents were good witches, healers and protectors, not the villains the townsfolk painted them to be.
But the doubt lingered. Who else could it be? The whispers of the bad black witches echoed in her mind, their jealousy of her parents' power, their constant attempts to undermine them. Could they have finally done something?
"Those wretched black witches," Priscilla muttered, her voice trembling with anger. "They've always resented us, ever since Mother and Father started using their magic to help people. They couldn't stand seeing good witches thriving."
A memory surfaced: a heated argument in the coven, the black witches sneering at her parents, accusing them of defying the natural order. "You meddle where you don't belong!" one of them had a spat. "True magic is about power, not charity!"
Priscilla shuddered, the memory still chilling her to the bone. Her ancestors, powerful white witches, had always used their magic for good. It was in her blood.
Desperation clawed at her. She had to find her parents. With trembling hands, Priscilla lit the candles for the ancient locator spell, whispering the incantation under her breath. But the flames flickered and died, refusing to reveal her parents' location.
Tears welled up in her eyes. "No, no, no!" she cried, the weight of her fear crushing her. Darkness was falling, and her parents were still missing.
Priscilla tossed and turned, the image of her parents' lifeless faces haunting her. Midnight crept in, and still, sleep eluded her. Suddenly, a sharp tap against her window shattered the silence.
Startled, Priscilla scrambled to the window, her heart pounding. A large white crow perched on the sill, its piercing eyes fixed on her. The crow wasn't an ordinary bird. This was Luminous, her family's messenger, a creature imbued with magic that allowed it to speak, though only members of her family could understand its voice.
Luminous tilted its head, a low caw escaping its throat. "Priscilla," it croaked, its voice heavy with grief. "I… I have terrible news."
Priscilla's blood ran cold. "What happened to Nay and Tay?" she whispered, dread creeping into her voice.
The crow lowered its head, its feathers ruffling. "They… they are gone."
The words struck Priscilla like a physical blow. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
Luminous opened its beak again, the words catching in its throat. "They… they were found in the town square. Their heads… displayed on the flagpole."
The image of her parents, their lifeless faces staring down at the horrified townspeople, was too much to bear. Priscilla let out a strangled cry, clutching her chest. "No! No, it can't be true!"
Luminous tried to comfort her, its wings gently brushing against her cheek. "I know, Priscilla. I know." But its words were lost on her. Grief threatened to consume her, but a flicker of defiance ignited within her. She would avenge her parents.
"Priscilla!" Snow squawked, his voice urgent. "Don't show yourself to the townspeople! They plan to hunt you down!"
Priscilla, her heart pounding, peered out the window. She could hear the angry murmur of voices rising from the square below, growing louder with each passing moment. "But…my home…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"They'll burn it down, Priscilla!" Snow insisted, his eyes wide with fear. "You have to leave now!"
Tears welled up in Priscilla's eyes. She couldn't bear to leave her childhood home, the only place she'd ever known. But Snow was right. She had to survive.
With a heavy heart, Priscilla began packing. She gathered her parents' most prized possessions – their spell books, their collection of rare herbs, the ancient cauldron passed down through generations of white witches. Leaving behind her toys, her clothes, everything that reminded her of a life that was now gone, she took only what was essential.
The angry shouts were now deafening. Priscilla could hear the crackling of flames and the terrified squawks of Luminous. With a surge of adrenaline, she bolted out the back door, her bare feet pounding against the dirt path.
She reached the edge of the woods, her lungs burning, and crouched low in the bushes, her heart hammering against her ribs. Through the trees, she witnessed the horror unfold. The townspeople, their faces contorted in rage, hurled flaming torches at her home.
The wooden hut, her sanctuary, her haven, was engulfed in a sea of fire. Priscilla watched in disbelief as the flames licked at the walls, devouring everything inside. Memories of laughter, of family meals, of her parents' gentle guidance, flashed before her eyes, then vanished in the inferno.
Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging. "No!" she cried, her voice choked with sobs. "No!"
As the flames consumed her home, a cold fury began to simmer within her. The pain of her loss was unbearable, but it was quickly overshadowed by a burning anger.
"They will pay," she vowed, her voice low and dangerous. "They will all pay."
The image of her parents, their lifeless heads displayed on the flagpole, seared into her memory. She would never forgive them. Never. They had taken everything from her – her parents, her home, her innocence
Priscilla stumbled on, her legs heavy, her heart aching. The mountain loomed over her, a silent, unforgiving witness to her despair. Where would she go? What would she do?
She turned to Luminous, the white crow perched on her shoulder, his feathers ruffled by the wind. "Luminous," she whispered, "can you fly and find us a safe place to rest? I… I can't go any further."
Luminous, sensing her distress, took flight, disappearing into the dense foliage. Priscilla, exhausted and dehydrated, sank to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her. The world spun, and then darkness enveloped her.
She awoke to the sound of a gentle voice. "Are you alright?"
Disoriented, Priscilla blinked, trying to focus. She was in a small, cozy room, the scent of pine needles filling the air. A man sat beside her, his face etched with concern.
"Where… where am I?" she stammered, her voice hoarse.
The man smiled gently. "You were unconscious. I found you in my yard. You must have wandered off the path."
Priscilla looked around, bewildered. "I… I don't remember…"
"Don't worry," the man assured her. "You're safe here. I wouldn't hurt you."
Priscilla hesitated, her instincts warning her to be wary of strangers. But his kindness, genuine and unwavering, disarmed her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "For saving me."
The man nodded. "You're welcome. Rest. You need it."
Priscilla watched the man rise, her gaze drawn to the cane leaning against the wall. He was blind. The realization hit her with a jolt.
He returned shortly, carrying a tray laden with steaming broth and crusty bread. As he carefully placed it on the low table, Priscilla couldn't help but stare, fascinated. He moved with an uncanny grace, his hands outstretched, seemingly sensing the obstacles in his path. He navigated the room with an ease that belied his blindness, as if the layout of his home was permanently imprinted on his mind.
"You can stop staring," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "I can feel your gaze."
Priscilla's cheeks flushed crimson. "I… I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to be rude. I was just… amazed. At how you… you move around."
The man paused, his hand hovering over the steaming bowl. Priscilla felt a flicker of unease, as if she'd said something wrong. "I'm used to it," he said finally, his voice a little softer. "People tend to stare."
"I understand," Priscilla mumbled, feeling a surge of guilt. "I'm truly sorry. It was insensitive of me."
The man waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. Now, eat."
"Where… where am I?" Priscilla asked, her voice trembling.
"You're at the bottom of the mountain of Lazi," the man replied.
The name struck a chord. Lazi. It was on the other side of the mountain from Bacong, her former home. The memory of her village, now reduced to ashes, brought a fresh wave of grief. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.
The man, clearly unused to such emotional displays, seemed unsure how to react. He shifted uncomfortably on the furs. "Is… is it okay to ask what happened? You looked… exhausted and disheveled when I found you. Your clothes were torn. What brought you here?"
Sniffling back tears, Priscilla managed a weak smile. "I… I was running from someone."
The man, thankfully, didn't press further. He simply offered her the bowl of broth again. "Eat," he urged gently. "You need your strength."
After eating, Priscilla felt a surge of energy. She couldn't stay here any longer. She had to find a way to survive, to rebuild her life.
"Thank you," she said, rising to her feet. "Thank you for saving me. I… I have to go now."
"Wait," the man said, his voice a little stronger. "You don't know this area. It's easy to get lost."
"I… I have to get to Lazi," Priscilla explained, her voice trembling. "My parents are waiting for me there."
The man nodded understandingly. "Alright, then. Be careful. And… and take care."
"Thank you," Priscilla repeated, a genuine smile gracing her lips this time. "I'm Priscilla, by the way."
"And I'm Elvis," the man replied.
As Priscilla stepped out of the small hut, she glanced back. It was a simple dwelling, a humble abode, yet it held a warmth she hadn't felt since the fire. It was a reminder that not all huts held bad memories, that kindness and compassion could still be found in the most unexpected places.