Magic’s Eve

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Prologue

It had all seemed too perfect. Evelyn's mother had always told her that things were not always as they seemed, but in this place and time, the daughter knew otherwise.

It had been too perfect. From the beginning, through every wonderful step of the way and to the bitter end, it had been too perfect to be true. Obviously, it wasn't true; obviously, some things just weren't meant to be. Those were more words that Evelyn's dear, wise mother had often issued.

It had been an illusion. Evelyn scoffed miserably at the idea. The art of illusion was one that she had mastered, one that she knew inside and out. How ironic that she had been cast under such a spell—and by one without magic, nonetheless.

Evelyn rested her back against a tree, the rough bark calling her to reality, away from the dream world she'd only just tried to escape to. She breathed deeply, unevenly, as the blood in her veins had not yet slowed. Without thinking, she brought up a hand to cover her racing heart, only to release a small gasp upon seeing the blood there. Instantly, she dropped to her knees on the sodden forest floor, rubbing hastily, wildly at the blood there. A familiar panic overtook her body as she worked to remove the coppery residue, and she knew it would not dissipate until she had succeeded.

Sitting back against the tree, the crimson stain having been removed from her hands, Evelyn released a sigh. It was not one of relief, not of contentment or accomplishment. Evelyn's skin was still covered in the paper-thin tracking spell that had covered her upon her flight from the castle; she could feel it all over. She rubbed her arm, but the spell clung to her body like a second skin. She willed it away, heart and soul, but her heart was weak and plagued by guilt.

Evelyn bowed her head. Her insidious deed went unmatched by any other that she had ever committed, stood above every mistake and every sin as if it were the most disgraceful and disturbing of them all. Unjustified and inexcusable, it obliterated every good and honorable thing she had ever done. It blackened her name, her body and soul.

Placing her now clean hand over her mouth, Evelyn began to whisper a familiar chant; she kissed her fingers and then released the spell to the world. Within moments the grey clouds above began to unleash their power with rain that covered all the city and countryside.

The sorceress cowered beneath an angry sky as the onslaught of rain arrived, washing her clean of the blood on her hands and the spell on her skin—but not of the guilt and shame that could never be swept away. She bowed her head, but did not cry, and clasped her hands, but did not pray. She merely sat there on the cold earth as the rain chilled her to the bone and washed away whatever evidence she could be rid of.

Eventually the rain let up, and Evelyn could move freely without being followed. But she still sat there on the forest floor, pitiful and lifeless, knowing she needed to flee for her life, but feeling no desire to do so. Instead she lifted her right hand over her head, palm facing towards the heavens. With one swift motion she brought her fingers together and allowed her hand to fall in front of her face. Almost instantly, the trees around her began to cave in, making a terrible groan as they bent against their will.

Evelyn, the last great sorceress of the world, shuddered with the cool wind that carried through the darkness, enshrouded by the trees that had closed in around her. There, she could be at peace with her thoughts until flight was necessary. There, in the lonesome forest hideaway that she had created, Evelyn allowed herself to be humbled, consumed by the guilt and regret that, from this night, would not leave until she released her last gasping breath.