The Witch

There are places in the world whose names have been forgotten. Ghostly places, enshrouded in ancient magic, almost like if they weren't there, are waiting for inadvertent visitors that step within their boundaries to never be seen again.

One of these places was once called Inhn, but nowadays nobody even knows the place exists. Back in time, Inhn was inhabited by a cruel witch. She was nameless, for part of her power lied in being an unknown entity to those that fell in her small realm. Her cabin and the graveyard around were surrounded by a forest. Only part of the forest was reached by this ancient magic, enveloping it, but it was enough to set a trap for those who were wandering by the other side of the forest.

The witch was known to mutilate her victims to then transform them into disturbing creatures that lost their humanity. Those creatures were then caged like birds and set outside the house, in the darkest part of the graveyard, left alone to die.

She fed on their suffering and their blood. She kept all of their limbs to continue torturing them even after they died, for the torment of their souls trying to reach the hands that no longer they could touch and reach was a delightful scene for her to watch. Their limbs in jars was what those poor souls wanted to recover, but even being next to them, they could never be complete again. Their despair and denial about the situation was what tied them to stay in the place, exactly where she, the nameless, needed them.

But even witches grow old, and as she aged, she was losing her power. She needed more people than before if she were to regain strength, but the forests around Inhn had been forgotten, and barely if ever new visitors showed up. She had sowed pain when she was young, and now she was too tired to watch her own back.

That's how one night, it happened. The legends aren't clear about what happened exactly. The only thing we know nowadays about the events is that the last two of her creations that despite dead, still were able of breathing air, buried her alive. Exhausted, their bodies fell and rot over her grave, and since that moment, their souls guard the nameless' tomb, to make sure she'll never raise among the dead.

This didn't put an end to the witch's victims' torment. Their souls had been tied to their mutilated limbs, and day after day, their weeping laments could be heard if you walked close to the limits of the safe part of the forests around Inhn. As time went by, those souls forgot about the nameless, they forgot what led them to be dead without hands, and slowly, they started to vanish forever, in sorrow and pain that would accompany them until the end of time.

That's how another tomb at the graveyard was abandoned, and the power of the witch started to grow back within it, whispering a song in the wind that started to attract people into walking near the forest.

The legend says, this other tomb is waiting for the next lost traveler that crosses the frontier to Inhn and sets foot into that haunted land. The tomb will then announce to the traveler that the day is their last day alive, and this new death will have power enough to bring the rejuvenated witch back to life.

The Black Widow

I've heard all the stories about us. Vain and shallow creatures, hunting husbands to suck their lives and money. Heartless, self-centered, monsters. Sluts. Whores. Scum with no remorse. Yes, I've heard all of them, and then some more.

I call it envy. Of our strength, of our independence from the rules that make them call us whores while secretly wishing being one.

It's not true that we don't love our husbands. We do. We love each one of them, and we keep that love alive even after they've gone, which makes our love for them particularly strong. That's why we need them gone: Because we're creatures of love, able of that rare affection and loyalty that survive death, and we need love to carry on with our lives.

Not every woman is fit to the role. Your secrets can never be known: they are your main strength. Solitude will be your second skin. This is how it must be, in order to feel all that intense and lasting love for your future husbands.

When you dust envy off the world's eyes, what's left is how they really see us: Charming, mysterious, attractive in ways that go further from simply entertaining the most basic desires. We feel no shame for that, and we'll use what we are.

But dare exposing us in front of our lovers and we'll show you why everybody fears a black widow.

Watcher of the Sea

Ever since Ariel was fifteen years old, she would escape her father's surveillance, the King of the Under-the-Sea world, and swam to the surface. She liked to sit on her favourite rock every night, half a mile distance from the shore. She always looked up to the sky and smiled at the Moon. When the Moon was full, cloudy or not, it would tell her stories about the world that was outside the sea, warming her in its faint light, making of Ariel a distinctive spot of an otherwise lonely location.

Ariel was a mermaid. Mermaids were thought to be legendary creatures. Half human, half fish, and with a voice that would enchant and drive crazy in love any man that would hear them sing, mermaids hadn't been seen by humans since centuries ago, and so they had been forgotten.

That particular night, the Moon was explaining this when Ariel saw something in the distance. It was a ship, worryingly close to the storm near her. She loved being showered by the rain, but this was very different to those creatures called humans. The Moon had told her that there were storms so wild, they would break their ships causing the people inside to drown. This seemed to be what would happen tonight.

Ariel's fingers were clenching in anxiety while observing, and finally, the inevitable happened: a lightning struck on the ship, starting a fire, and while some people tried to suffocate it, others, pushed by waves that grew high as to reach gunnel, struggled to avoid falling in the sea.

There was tension and screaming at the ship. Ariel could not stop looking and the Moon reminded her that her father would be quite angry if humans would see her, that mermaids were not to interfere in human life. Upset and uneasy, doing her best to ignore the knot that was tying tight in her stomach, she was ready to dive back home and so she stood up. Then, another wave pushed the ship, and this time she saw a man falling in the sea.

It happened so fast that before Ariel realized, she had jumped towards the ship and was swimming to rescue the man. Only when she reached that half conscious human, the words of her father resonated loud in her mind. "Do not intervene in human affairs!"

She shook her head trying not to hear them, and swam driving the man to the safety of the seashore. She waited until he opened his eyes, laying next to him, and when he did, she smiled and told him in the sweetest voice ever heard, "I'm so glad I was there to help you! How are you feeling?"

The man stood up, his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the half-fish creature, and walked back a few steps.

"What, what... What are you? That's not possible! You're a monster!," the man said.

He reached the gun that was still held by his belt, and despite wet, he could use it and shot Ariel on her shoulder. She screamed in pain and fell.

"But, but... But I've saved you!," Ariel said, unable to understand, crying.

The man shot again, this time on her chest. Her eyes clouded and she fainted. The man shot a third time and there would have been a fourth one, hadn't it been for Ariel's father showing up on the seashore after the Moon called him saying it was urgent. Her father took the gun from the hands of the scared man and urged upon him to leave fast. Once the man disappeared from his sight, he threw the gun in the depths of the sea, took dying Ariel in his arms, and went back home with her.

Weeks after, Ariel opened her eyes. She was still convalescent and the injuries hurt. Her father was sitting next to her, he had been doing after their doctors extracted the bullets and cured her injuries the best they could. He smiled only for a second, then his stern look was back.

"Ariel," he said, "there's a reason why we don't intervene in human's affairs. They're a species of fearful violent creatures that attack what they cannot understand. Your intentions don't matter. They only see a strange creature to destroy and we have to protect ourselves from them."

One tear trickled down Ariel's cheek. She knew what would happen now.

"Now, there's the matter of the rules. You know them. If I am to expect for others to abide by my rules, I have to set an example by punishing my own daughter who broke them. I can't make an exception with you. You know what happens at this moment."

Her father was strict in applying the rules, and no matter her good intention when saving that man, no matter her promising she wouldn't break them again, Ariel was punished and cursed to eternally be the Watcher of the Sea. Always on duty to help drown those humans that would fall in the dark waters, she would be an invisible shadow to their eyes, singing to their ears while holding them and pushing their lives down in the depths of the silent sea.

Fallen Angels

Paradise was promised to us, until the day he confessed to his weakness and how much help he needed. They turned their heads towards me in wrath and blamed me for having allowed that he was weak. Their affection turned immediately in hate and so they stabbed me until I could no longer stand up, then kicked me out.

He came after me, despite of their begging and their let her die, and as he was crossing the doors to reunite with me in Hell, they stabbed him too. Their own son.

We were left alone with wounds that wouldn't let us move and live, hoping for a quick death.

But not even Death wanted us, and we had to survive in a world where we were the only ones we could trust. We were so hurt that started attacking each other. We were full of anger with nothing else to take it on but the other one. The blame, the blame. Who was to be blamed?

We are the Fallen Angels. We paid the price for defying the sacred societal rules. We are still angry. And now we begin to heal and stand up.

I have lost an angel

I've been trusted the care of an angel, and I couldn't save its wings.

A broken switch

The priest was smiling to her. She was confused and a little scared. A strange thought was wandering in her mind, an incomplete phrase. It was the voice of the priest, saying to another man "do not worry... she will like it, and will come back for more, and again... and when she resists, we will..." When the priest approached, she didn't like how familiar it felt. He told her that she would find her room outside, in the little build next to the church, and what her job was. His finger felt like concrete, scratching, when he brushed her cheek.

A flash came to her memories. She had accepted a gift from the priest, some time in the past. So they met at some point, despite she had no recollection of this. Trying to remember what was that gift, all she would get was a headache, as if somebody were screaming inside her mind.

The days went by. Nobody ever stopped by, not even by the graveyard, which she visited daily. The candles in the darkness of the church always brought flashes of lost memories to her mind, but she didn't know what to do with them. The images made no sense. A box with a snake? Another man, examining her from the distance?

The priest would always smile at her in a way that made her tremble, freeze. Something in his expression told her that he was waiting... for the right time. She decided she had to run away from that eerie place. She would do the next day.

That night, she had a strange dream. In her dream, she was in bed. She could hear the priest and another man talking about her past, the sin, the shame she had brought. Then she saw what was the gift. She wanted to take it but remembered, this was not the first time. Something happened next, all the other times.

A hooded otherworldly creature showed up in her room, the bed cover was suddenly a mess and she could feel the creature was coming for her. She screamed, screamed while trying to stand up and avoid that ghostly touch... and woke up. Her heart was still racing when she looked to the left. The moon light coming by the window allowed her to see that the creature was still there. Her voice failed and she tried to turn the light on. The light switch wasn't working. Rigid, scared, she then looked to the right. Lying next to her, on the bed, there was another of those hooded creatures. She screamed loud but her voice wouldn't come out. The creatures showed their faces. One of them was the priest. And the other one... Could it be? Could it really be?

Father...

The apprentice

Sarah wanted to learn the secrets of the afterlife and spells to bring spirits back to Earth. She knew of a magician that took her under his tutelage. She learned the basics, but her eagerness about darkness soon gave her away, and the magician became cautious. Expecting that Sarah would steal a small book with the most powerful recipes (for apprentices always wanted to run before they knew how to walk), he cast a spell upon it. The book was sealed.

Five days later, the Full Moon was up in the sky, and Sarah took what she thought her best chance. As the magician predicted, she stole the book and fled, hiding in the cemetery.

She sat on a stub next to the mausoleums, ready to open the book. The book wouldn't open, though. She mumbled, cursing the magician and the book at the same time, and spent a while thinking. She remembered a spell to open sealed boxes, and decided to try. "A closed box and a closed book are the same things. Closed things," were her thoughts.

She put the book on the ground and her hands were over the cover. She said the words, feeling her fingers tingling. Smiling, she looked down, finding that the book had opened. Her eyes danced over the pages and found what she had been searching for. The spell was difficult, but if successful, she could invoke a shadow from the death, a stealthy creature that would follow the people she wanted, making for her to see inside their minds and learn their best kept secrets.

A blurry shape started to show on the mirror. It was a woman. Bald, white, Sarah could see through her. The woman seemed to be sleeping, then she raised her head and started to look around. Sarah was excited and, at the same time, a little scared. She had the creature right in front of her. Now what?

The woman smiled, showing her palms, reaching to the mirror's surface. "Touch my hands, Sarah," she said. Sarah walked closer. Her hands doubted. "I know why you summoned me. I will first visit the magician, and tell you all that he hides in his mind. Touch my hands, Sarah, and it will be done," the woman on the mirror insisted, in soothing tone.

The mirror's surface felt warm in Sarah's hands. The sensations were puzzling. The mirror seemed to melt in her hands while the woman inside started reaching outside, walking through Sarah.

Before she realized, Sarah was inside the mirror, confused. Outside, the ghostly woman was nowhere to be seen. The magician was there, instead. His expression, stern, revealed that the deceiving woman inside the mirror was the actual spell sealing the book. She started to cry, begged him to release her. He only said, "Think about what you did, Sarah. Think. You will be staying here for a long time." He then turned around, and walked away.

Waiting for you

I can't remember when I sat on these steps to wait for you. All I know is that it feels like a long time. You asked me to wait here, no matter what. You said you'd be back in an hour, but the truth is that I have no recollection of what happened. Did I really see you show up? Were you the one carrying that needle in your hand? I don't know. Those images are blurred in my memories, then they fade to black. I can just say that I'm here, waiting for you, as you asked me to do. But there's so much I don't understand. I feel empty, and... is this cold? Why does it feel so dark? Why I cannot feel my body anymore?

I'm scared... Where are you? Will this wait take any longer?

Mourning

The story of my life isn't but the story of the stories I choose to remember, imagine, reinvent, and tell. Some of them get better and more detailed as time goes by. Others, richer in pain, gloomier and darker. Others cease to exist as I no longer feel interest for them. And others have a special place in my heart, because I was never able to remove the knife.

"I mourn my mother. I mourn my other mother. I mourn so many people that are still alive. When did my life turn into a cemetery of living dead?"

Death at sea

"She's ready, and willing," I heard behind me. He was looking at the sky as he was saying. His expression was sad, his lips were turning down. I walked until my feet were covered by the water, and looked up. The moon light embraced me, and I smiled.

I lowered my head and my eyes met the red clouds. It was a story a thousand times told in the past. It will be told many more thousands, in the future. My future was written in their color. A gift for our Gods.

"I can't do this," he said to me, as I started to kneel in the water, following the ritual. "It has to be done," is all I could answer.

"The Gods are cruel," he continued. "The Gods will take me. I will be safe, and we will meet again once this is over," I replied. He shook his head in disbelief. Then I started to lie down.

I felt his fingers closing my eyes. I felt his soft kiss on my forehead. He put the necklace around my neck, his first gift, and then I knew, it was the moment. "I love you," he said, and walked away. I knew he was crying. Once I was drifting in open sea, I started to doubt. "What if the Gods never existed? What if I have just been left alone, facing death at sea?"

Cold heart

Everybody wears a mask, and during our life, we polish it, adapt it to the image we want to see reflected on the mirror, and tell ourselves, this is me. We repeat it until we no longer remember who we are, deluded into believing that we are the image on the mirror, forgetting that there's something under the mask. Someone. The real us.

I have chosen ice and blades for my mask, and I have called it Patience. I can listen to you as long as you don't walk too close. Close to my heart, or close in your words and deeds to the memories of who I was once, which is someone that I now despise.

When you reach me, the blades of my mask will hurt the two of us. I am used to live with my bleeding wounds, but you will walk away, and when you turn around to ask me why I did hurt you, then you will realize about the smiling ice on the mask. You will leave me behind saying "she deserves it, she has a horrible cold heart." And I will turn around and go back to my dark places, hiding my tears and painting nightmares with them, under the stinging comfort provided by my perfect, cold mask.