I run into the cold, dark cellar that resides under my Salem Massachusetts home. I run to the far corner of the cellar, there is no light, but the faintness of the moon seeping through the holes in the cellars door-ed entrance. My silver Onyx gem'ed dagger is at the ready. I know they are coming. I know someone is watching but who?
I go to the secret passageway that is but five feet from where I stand. To get to this obscured passageway one must say the ancient incantation that my ancestor had bestowed apon the entrance centuries ago.
"Oman Sigastian Infurius." And with that a faint light shines and the entrance opens with no sound. I slip into the entrance and journey down the passageway, for this will be my home.
As I pass through the passageway I recall the many tunnels that it is littered with. Only I can navigate the tunnels without going astray and meeting a cruel fate.
I then come into a room. The room is cold, and must hangs in the air. Stones make up this room entirely. Inside the room in the very center is a coffin. The room is lit by candle's burning blue flame.
I walk to the coffin. Cobwebs surround this holder of the dead. Calligraphicly Carved into the top center of the coffin written in the old language states,"Here lies Espiniah Indra, witch of Salem, sorceress of death, bringer of the end." Gothics designs cover the coffin. Spells and Chants are carved all over the coffin. The coffin's color is of the color of black as dark as a midnight starless sky.
I open the coffin. This is an old sign of respect. Inside is a body. A woman being around my current, and most likely finale age of sixteen is in my presence. Black roses surround her lifeless body. Red silk escapes through the roses and cascade all over the inside of the coffin. Her blue, white, colorless skin shines like a pearl. Her flowy dark hair billows out of her. Her Gothic Victorian dress graces her slim build. The only thing that is not of sere beauty is the bruised neck that resides on her. Her hanging will be avenged.
"I have come." I say aloud to her. "They are coming for me as well, alas if only you could have taught me more of your ways. I am alone now." I say this as if waiting for a response of objection, stating that I am in fact not alone. Of course none ever comes, for I am truly alone.
I gave my respects and closed the coffin. I then left her and traveled down a passageway lit by candle's. I come to the door of my room. I take a moment to take everything in for once I enter this room I will most likely never come out. I then braes myself and enter the room. Once in I journey to my desk, the only well lit place in my sleep chamber. I take a seat in my chair. My chair looks like it belongs in a museum of thrones graced by Kings. I ready myself to write, I pick up my feathered quill pen, and some papers. I dip my pen into ink and begin to write. For Espaniah told me to write my story before there is nothing to write.
"My name is Ezmeralda Indra, and I am a witch." I write this down hastily. I wrote that line as if to get it over with for it was one of the hardest frazez I ever had to write. Not because I am ashamed of who I am, but of the memories that encase me when I think to much upon the subject.
"My great great Grandmother Espaniah Indra was murdered in the Salem Witch trials on August 13,1692.. Most claim that witches are not real, that they do not and never have been, or never will exist; but I know better.
" When I was six years old, only but a child, My friend Anatasia Colette and I practiced black magic. While doing so we summoned the vengeful soul of my ancestor herself Espaniah Indra. Espaniah wanted revenge, and in order to get it she decided to train Anatasia and I in the art of Witchcraft. We learned swiftly, and by our comings of the ages of ten we were power witches. Espaniah explained that we would need to kill the hunters of darkness in order for her and all of the other murdered witches and wizards to find peace. But before we could journey to them they attacked us. Anatasia and I fought hard but were no match for them. I still remeber fighting and looking over to see a boy around our age standing over Anatasia with a silver dagger pointed at her heart. I tried to run to her aid, alas I was to late the boy had struck her heart and she lay there seaming lifeless in a pool of her scarlet colored blood. When I had finally reached her I tried to save her, I started to preform a spell to sell my soul to the devil to save her but she stopped me but telling me with her dying breathe," Stop Ezmeralda it is not worth it. You know I have fun,,,," With that she smiled and l then looked up at the ceiling and never mooved again. After that day I swore to destroy everyone of those demons, especially the one who had killed Anatasia."
I picted up the picture that resided on my desk.It was a picture of Anatasia and I just a month prior to her death. I held the picture and replayed all of the memories I fought back tears for a witch never cries.
I then began to continure writing, "Why I am telling you this exactly is because of one reason revenge. I will soon be dead, and Hunter Of Darkness your 'protectors' will be at fault. You say they protect you from those who are like me, the ones you branded monsters, when really those horrid monsters are really your protectors. They take the lives of the innocent just because of there being a witch, or a wizard. You see I desire to pass my story along to others. If you are reading this I thank you. And I tell you this now, witches do exist, and I Ezmeralda Indra am the only witch left. And this is my story."
With that I continued to write for this is where my story begins.
No comments:
Post a Comment