Scarred

Magic runs strong in me, but power isn’t enough.

 

Magic confers an unnatural beauty on everyone with talent. Everyone except me, that is. I’m a witch, to be sure. No doubt about my birthright. When I was young, Mother hid me away until I was old enough to hold a glamour to conceal my flaws.

And hold it I did for many a long year until I grew sick of siphoning off that amount of magic on something stupid. I was a valued Coven member. Surely, they’d accept me. And my wolfie familiar. All witches have them, except most are cats or birds. Something small, manageable.

Eh. Getting off track here. The unpleasant truth was the moment I sloughed my glamour, the council held an emergency meeting. The next day, I was out on the streets. They booted wolfie along with me.

No more home. No more sisterhood. Hah. What a joke all those of years of bonhomie turned out to be. If I sound bitter, darned right I am. Bitter and moving forward.

I’ll show them if it’s the last thing I do.