Chapter 2: The Truth

My wrist, glistening with the witch's Crest, caught my eye. I thought to myself: I've become exactly what I detested most. I'm a witch. Without wasting a minute, I blew a tantrum.

"Why? Who am I? What is this? What's in God's wound? I'm a damned witch!"

My already half-crumbled life shattered further at the mere sight of my Crest.

"This can't be. It's just a dream. Wake up, Olivia, wake up!" I shouted, refusing to believe or accept what I had become. Desperate, I pinched myself, hit myself—anything to convince myself I was dreaming.

But it wasn't a dream.

Coming to this horrifying realization, I ran to the tap, grabbed the sheep brush, and scrubbed inexorably at my mild skin, trying to scrape the soul-bound Crest off. It was no use.

"I'll be hunted down. Ha ha ha!" I laughed bitterly.

"My life is over. It's no use. Let's just sit and wait until they drag me to the Market Square. There's no point delaying the ineluctable. I'll be cauterized… no, no! For a witch like myself, that's too mild. My cursed soul deserves to be conflagrated. Yes, that serves me right. Maybe then, I can finally rest. Hopefully, there's a soft, cool place in hell."

My thoughts spiraled into a white room, blocking all rays of positivity. I had decided that living wasn't meant for me.

It would be hypocritical and guileful of me to try to live. After all, I detest witches. All witches must die, I thought.

"All right," I said to myself. "Let's go get ourselves killed. Time to hasten Gabriel's job. I'll just present myself to him on an emerald platter."

Delirium mixed with a strange euphoria took over. I took my first step but slipped on the floor, slick with water from the dripping faucet where I had tried to scrub the Insignia off. I fell hard to the ground and lost consciousness.

I had that dream again, more vivid than ever. The voice was so calm and serene that I felt my soul at ease.

"Olivia, you've finally gotten your Insignia. I'm so happy. I can't wait to see how powerful and brave you become.

"I see you're still in denial of your heritage. Olivia, witches aren't different from human beings. In fact, we are the core of this village. If the witches of Willow Creek are immolated, unspeakable doom will befall this place.

"Remember the riddle I told you. Decipher it, my brave girl. Restore balance to this town. We'll always be rooting for you. My time is up, Olivia. I won't be able to communicate with you for a while. I love you."

I woke up, my tear sac broken. I was crying and weeping unrestrainedly.

"I'm an orphan. I don't even know who my true parents are," I whispered.

I was raised by two women who had found me at their doorstep on a rainy night. They were the best things that ever happened to me—until they were torched, seared, and immolated right in front of me.

They raised me to be strong, and after months of unimaginable heartbreak and loneliness, I came to terms with my new broken life. But now, I remembered the pain I felt back then, when my mothers were incinerated. That pain must have caused some sort of temporary amnesia because I had forgotten everything that happened.

Remembering now made my heart ache and my soul break. My mothers were the ones trying to communicate with me in the dream world.

"Wow, witches really are amazing," I thought as I got up from the wet floor, rinsed my tear-streaked face, and recited the riddle.

"I'm high above the dusty place,

Secrets beware, the truth will soon be clear.

Head towards me, and yourself you shall see."

"Yes!" I exclaimed with strong certitude.

"All right, let's decipher this."

After hours of thinking, I came to a realization: I wasn't as smart as my mothers had praised me to be.

"A dusty place… high above…" I repeated the words endlessly until it finally clicked.

"It's the attic! Wait, the attic is high above and dusty. It must be the attic!"

With a renewed sense of euphoria and purpose, I smiled and darted up the stairs. I had never been there before and wondered how it would look. On reaching the attic, I realized it was locked. There was no keyhole or doorknob.

"Does this need another riddle before allowing access?" I queried my thoughts.

"Well, I'm a witch now. I'd better start thinking like one. But wait—I don't even know any spells!"

Feeling frustrated, I knelt in displeasure.

"What is this!?"

After a few moments, I examined the door for cracks.

"Hey, let's just break it. How could I be so stupid?" I chided myself.

I ran to get a sledgehammer and swung it with all my might, but the door didn't budge. Not a single scratch.

Knelt again, annoyed and frustrated, I rested my hands on the door. Immediately, the Insignia on my wrist beamed, and the door reacted, opening up magically.

I stood in awe.

Inside was a world entirely different. All the items floated, and the atmosphere felt ethereal. It was like stepping into another dimension. The room seemed to stretch endlessly, growing wider and larger with every step I took.

A portrait of my mothers caught my eye, bringing back memories of their immolation. I shook my head, trying to block out the pain.

I wandered through this enchanting new world until I reached a floating crate. Something about it compelled me, as if my body moved on its own. Stuck in enthrallment, I opened the crate and found… nothing.

Disappointed, I refused to let my hope vacillate.

"I'll just explore the other items in here," I said, trying to stay optimistic.

The crate, however, kept pulling at me. Stretching my arms toward it, I felt a sheen, an aura—an essence. Something was definitely there. Reaching inside, I was right. A bright light flooded the room, and when it settled, a beautiful pendant attached to a note appeared.

"Why was it camouflaged?" I wondered.

I wore the pendant and opened the note, but I couldn't read it. Feeling a pang of sadness, I refused to let this setback stop me. I moved on to explore the floating books and was astounded by the existence of this plane.

The room seemed alive, pulsating with energy.

I found a section of books about spells and opened one. To my relief, I could read it. The book detailed how to control and channel aura into physical form—magic.

Feeling a surge of excitement, I began my journey into mana control. Within hours, I could fabricate magic. Though it was undefined and weak at first, I practiced relentlessly, unlearning and relearning until I achieved the desired shape.

Time seemed irrelevant in this space. I wasn't hungry or tired; I could keep learning.

"I love magic!" I yelled joyously, twirling around the room in mirth.

I accidentally knocked over a floating book, which I picked up. To my astonishment, it contained the historical context of witches and witchcraft.

Its title read: The Origin of Witches.