“Go now, my love! Teach the living what it means to hoard their dead! Make them fear me like their ancestors did before them. Make it brutal and make it bloody! Fill their minds with terrors that will live on in their imaginations. Create a fear so great within their hearts they will never forget what it means to cross the witches of the dead woods!”
“Mother, no!”
Gothel was awestruck and her sisters stood frozen with fear, watching the dead march through the crimson vortex. But even more disturbing was the twisted smile on their mother’s face. They had never seen her so happy, so pleased with herself, and they shuddered to think what those monsters would do to the villagers.
“Mother! Please don’t do this! Can’t you just give them a warning? Give them a chance to make it right before you do this?” begged Primrose.
Manea laughed at her. “You’re pathetic! If you girls want to learn my magic, if you want to honor the ancestors, then this will be one of your responsibilities. Do you think I do this lightly, Prim? Do you think I take pleasure in having women and children slaughtered? I do it for our protection. For our family!”
Primrose had a look of utter disgust on her face. “I think you do take pleasure in it, Mother! I can feel it! So don’t pretend otherwise!”
Manea narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “One day it will be up to you girls to take up this responsibility after me. It’s a grave undertaking, it takes courage and resolve, and I fear you are too weak to take my place when the time comes!”
Primrose stood stark still, clinging to Hazel. It was Gothel who spoke. She took a deep breath, raised her chin to meet her mother’s gaze, and said, “I choose to honor you and those who came before you, Mother. I want to learn your magic. I will take on the responsibility.”
Manea grabbed Gothel by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Gothel’s feet were dangling like a rag doll’s as her sisters’ screams rang in her ears. “What makes you worthy, Gothel, to stand in my place and rule as queen in this land?”
“I don’t know,” said Gothel, trembling and gasping for air. She knew she was worthy. She felt there was something of her mother inside her, waiting to get out. She knew this was her rightful place, but she couldn’t put it into words.
“What would you do in my place? What would you do if a nearby village was hoarding their dead?” asked her mother, meeting Gothel’s gaze.
“I would do the same as you, Mother,” said Gothel.
“Good. I always hoped you would take my place here once I chose to fall into the mists, Gothel,” said Manea as she gently let go of Gothel’s neck. “But that time is not now, my darling.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “My magic doesn’t live in those books you’ve been reading, not entirely. It lives in my blood, and I can spare only so much at a time.” Gothel’s eyes were wide as she listened to her mother, and she knew her mother could hear her thoughts and questions. “Yes, my dear one, my Gothel, you understand me now. I’m not being selfish with my powers. Once I have given you everything there is to know, there will be nothing left of me. You will have it all, including my life and my place as queen, and the responsibility to honor our ancestors will be yours. That is paramount, Gothel, that you uphold our traditions and keep our secrets safe from the world of the living.” Manea looked into her daughter’s eyes. “Are you ready to receive more of my blood, Daughter? To take the next step?”
“More of your blood?”
Manea laughed. “Yes, my blackhearted child, more. How do you think you and your sisters can feel each other’s emotions? How do you think Primrose felt mine? That’s my blood running through your veins. I shared a small amount of my blood with each of you when you were born, and I intend to share it again. The more I share with you, the more powerful you will become. Are you prepared to receive more, my daughter?”
“Gothel, no! Don’t do it!” whispered Primrose. Gothel wanted nothing more than to quell her sisters’ fears, to make them understand she was doing this for them, but she didn’t have the words to comfort either of them. Hazel’s blue eyes were filled with tears, and Primrose was shaking her head frantically as Gothel considered her mother’s proposal. “Gothel, please don’t!”
Manea laughed. “You two were always weak-minded. So pure. Not like witches at all. Not like Gothel here. Her heart is almost as black as mine.”
“Don’t say that!” screamed Hazel. “If you’re so sure about Gothel, then let her take the night to think it over. Give her the night to decide.”
Manea laughed again. “Fine. Go back to the house, the lot of you! Gothel can give me her decision before the sun sets tomorrow. Now leave before I change my mind!”
“Come on, Gothel,” said Primrose, pulling her sister away from her mother, but Gothel couldn’t seem to make her limbs move. She felt numb, like she was in a trance and somehow tethered to her mother. Gothel’s sisters each took one of her hands and led her down the path that would take them to their
house on the hill, leaving their mother alone in the dead forest to do her magic, which erupted around her like lightning, casting terrible shadows about. With each step, Gothel had to will her legs to move. It was as if some invisible force wanted her to stay with her mother.
“Don’t look back at her, Gothel!” whispered Hazel. “Focus on us.” Gothel blinked, trying to focus on her sisters. She felt like she was coming out of a thick fog as they moved farther away from their mother.
“Are you okay?” asked Primrose, looking into her sister’s eyes. They reflected the light from their mother’s magic, which sparked in the distance, making her eyes look as if they didn’t completely belong to her. “Gothel?” Primrose stopped walking, put her hands on Gothel’s shoulders, and looked into her large light eyes. “Gothel! Look at me! Are you okay?”
“Yes, Prim, I’m fine. Let’s go home. I have a lot to think about.”
The three sisters stood on the balcony off Gothel’s bedroom, watching the lights from their mother’s magic dance in the dead forest. They created ominous shadows on stone carvings of harpies on the wall behind them, giving the winged beauties life.
“How long do you think she will be out there?” asked Hazel. Her voice was quivering.
“Don’t be frightened, Hazel. Everything will be okay, I promise,” said Gothel with a strange faraway look in her eye.
“How can you say that? Everything will not be okay! Our mother is killing everyone in that village!” Primrose was shaking with anger.
“Our mother is upholding our family’s traditions, Prim. This is the way it’s been done for centuries.”
Primrose looked at Gothel like she was something vile, like she was an alien species she didn’t recognize.