Hexennacht (Wheel of the Year #2)

by C.M. Nascosta

Alone, together.

He saw her exactly as she was, and the act of being seen made her feel more substantial. Less afraid to take up space in the world, and the substantiality made her more certain of her place in it.

She didn’t mind feeling like an outsider, of never fitting in . . . but the absence of belonging was like a hole within her. She may have not fit in, but she had belonged to something, once.

“Well. I’ll warn you now, this is not a happy story. Most fairy tales aren’t. Have you noticed that? They’re meant to teach and to warn. Mothers die and children are eaten. A happy ending is not required, only that you’re warned away from some danger.”

Death could be beautiful, she knew now. It could be peaceful and merciful, but the ugly emotions that preceded it never were. The goodbyes and the grief that followed were weights, tangible and heavy, and she knew that she would carry them forever.

“They will call you many things, but there is only one title that matters, my dear ones. It matters not where your specialty lies. The title you will wear for the rest of your days is sister. You step forth this day as a part of this ancient sisterhood, a power that lives in your bones, passed down from your mothers and all the mothers that came before.”

“No matter where you go or how isolated you may feel, no matter if your coven is large and well-funded or if you are forced to practice alone, I bid you to hold your head high, sisters. A witch does not walk to the noose with a lowered head and shame in her heart, for she walks with her sisters beside her. From this day forward, your heart beats in time with all those who came before you, and yours will beat with all those who come after.”