The fear that you’re not supposed to be moving so quickly, so assuredly to an unforgiving landing. Uncertain if the land will leave you with breath in your lungs or intact bones in your legs. The release of the pressure that is standing, keeping yourself whole and unbroken and tall and strong. Vulnerable because you are no longer standing and strong, but defenseless to the ground that is rushing up to meet you with a smile of disaster.
Falling usually ends in breaking, in disaster, in needing to be fixed.
But sometimes falling is good. It’s fun, thrilling. When you fall out of an airplane and feel that rush of excitement in the bottom of your gut. When adrenaline is fire in your veins before you pull the string to release the parachute. Continue reading →
My house has already tripled in size since Nissa saved me that day ten years ago. She returned to her own woods the following day, after teaching me how to build my new home, but I saw her a few more times before she passed. Her home now houses hundreds of Woodland creatures and floral life. The magic that still resides there keeps them safe, happy, and healthy. It also acts as a home for roaming witches. For those who have not found their place, their Wood or their clearing, Nissa’s gives them safety for as long as they need it. Continue reading →
I tried all I could to get rid of it when I was a child. But even human devices did not work. They use their own forms of potions, such as pastes and oils, to cure their injuries. However, all they create must be applied immediately, which I was not able to do.
So I tried all the potions and spells I knew. I even sent a message to a fellow witch a few towns over. Her reply was kind and caused me to hide in my bathtub, shaking with sobs, but did not help with getting rid of the scar.
The air is stale, Sam wrote in her notebook. She looked up, took another step, and shook her head. She touched the tip of her pen to the page again and crossed out the sentence.
Fear is more alive in the air than the actual people breathing it. I can’t tell if it is a fear of where they live, of the prison itself, or of what exists outside of the building. Maybe it’s fear of how they will continue life after they leave the stone walls of their own guilt or maybe it’s the fear that they’ll never escape it.