witch

The Great White Witch was hung from the wall by a sickly red dark magic. Her long red hair falling in front of her face. Her brilliant white suit now sullied with dust and scuffs. A smell of ashes and brimstone hung in the air. Her grey eyes fluttered open, still woozy from the force of The Abominable Warlock’s energy beam throwing her against the wall. Menacingly, The Warlock cloaked in black and red, skulked towards her, his eyes furious glowing Rubies and his platinum locks trailing behind him.

“No, this can’t be the end!” She wept aloud. “Everyone was counting on me!”

A witch's tea party is a much more complicated affair than your average get together. I don't mean that in an arrogant, "Oh you mundane folk just can't understand the ways of magic" sort of way. I am speaking quite literally: older witches use these gatherings as a way to judge an evaluate their peers on multiple levels. Choice of tea and food, sipping versus slurping, how one crosses their legs; all these things supposedly display hidden truths that the senior practitioners of witchcraft will analyse and discuss with great enthusiasm as soon as the younger ones go home.

The table was clear a moment ago. When Lexi looked up from her reading and saw her nemesis, she didn’t hesitate.

“Die! Die! Die!” Lexi repeatedly brought the rolled magazine down on the dark smear that had once been a spider.

The commotion drew Tara to the living room. “Another one?”

“I think I got him.” Lexi slumped back on the couch, panting. The bubbling in her belly faded. She lifted up her tank top; she was visibly bloated but her quick reaction had limited the damage.

Tara sat down next to her and placed a hand Lexi’s exposed stomach.