The Black Witch

She could feel the tug of dark magic pulling her closer into the oblivion. It was a calling that she knew all to well, and yet she still felt compelled to follow the path set before her.

Normalcy she discovered belonged to the realm of mortals; a realm devoid of magic, discovery, and the will to seek the deeper truths. None of that meant anything to her, for her only goal was to find that which would free her from the fear of constantly looking over her shoulder.

Through death she could finally be free, free from the fear of being absorbed by the very being who gave birth to her.
The death of her mother meant life everlasting, however to do so she needed the strength and will to exercise the darkest of magic. The very magic used in the creation of her birth.

There was no other way around it, she would either kill or be killed. Knowing how vile and calculated her mother was she was certain that her death wouldn’t be quick, nor painless. No, it would be the exact opposite. In her mother’s eyes she wasn’t much of a daughter, instead she was more akin to a magical battery, a battery which rightfully belonged to the dark coven of witches.

Somehow, she had to find a way. Unfortunately, not giving up was a trait she inherited from her mother, along with cunning and tenacity.
In the end, the freedom in which she sought could only be achieved one way. It was either her or her mother.

To be continued.