Year 1765
She crouched beneath the table, small hands clamped tightly over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears.
Her green gaze flicked between the boots of the intruders and the calm figure of her mother standing tall before them. The room felt colder than it had a minute ago. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, louder than any storm she had ever known.
"Where are you hiding the Meri stones, Isla?" the dark-haired woman snapped.
But Isla didn't flinch. The blonde witch stood her ground, arms at her sides, face unreadable. She didn't look afraid. Only focused—on one thing: her daughter. Hidden. Safe.
"You'll never have them," Isla said flatly. "Not you, and not your coven."
The man beside the woman flared, fury written across his face. Finn. He had always hated Isla's defiance.
"You bitch," he hissed...and his fist struck her across the face.
The child gasped, her hand flying back to her mouth as she trembled. Her mother's warning echoed in her head: Stay out of sight, no matter what.
"Don't, Finn," the woman warned sharply, but the damage was done.
Isla staggered, blood on her lip. Still, she smiled—slow and broken.
"I knew this day would come," she said, raising her chin. "But I will do what I must to protect those stones."
Without warning, Finn lunged. His hand closed around her throat, lifting her slightly off the floor. Her feet kicked against the wooden planks, her face turning pale.
Isla didn't fight back. She could have...she was more powerful than most witches alive. But she knew their plan. If she used magic, they'd trace it. They'd find what they were looking for.
Instead, she whispered.
"Mantos secardia leprose."
The spell was soft, but its effect immediate. The air changed.
Finn dropped her. She fell to her knees, coughing, blood dripping from her lips. Her eyes met her daughter's...just for a second. She smiled.
"No—what did she say?" Carol, the other witch, took a step forward.
Isla's hands shook as she whispered again...this time with pain in every word.
And then... silence.
Her body collapsed. Still. Cold.
Carol stared, stunned. "Why did she kill herself?"
"We lost the stones," Finn muttered, pacing. "Now what?"
"We inform the upper hand," Carol snapped. "We searched everything. There's nothing left."
The two witches left the house without another glance at the fallen woman.
Isla's body remained intact—no ash, no dust. Her kind didn't fade after death.
Moments passed. Then small footsteps padded across the creaking wood. The little girl emerged from her hiding place, tears now flowing freely.
"Mama..."
She dropped beside the lifeless body and wept, her sobs the only sound left in the house.
—
In the woods nearby, a small family walked under the canopy of trees. A man, his wife, and their young daughter.
Suddenly, the girl dashed forward. "Beth!" the man called, chasing after her.
He caught up just as his daughter slowed, staring at a figure in the distance—a child sitting silently outside a small house.
The man's brows furrowed. A house? Here?
He stepped closer. The girl didn't move, only lifted her tear-stained face to meet his.
"What happened, child?" he asked gently.
She didn't answer. Just turned her face away.
His wife approached slowly, keeping a protective arm around their daughter. She eyed the strange girl warily.
"Fredrick?" she called softly.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside. A long pause. Then he returned, eyes distant.
"There's a body. Inside. Her mother, I think."
The little girl whispered: "Mama."
Her voice was like a ghost. Fredrick knelt in front of her, surprised she had spoken.
"What happened?" he asked softly.
She didn't respond.
"What's your name?"
"...Della."
"Where's your father, Della?"
She shook her head. "No papa."
Fredrick stood, turning to his wife. "I need to inform the magistrate. If she has no one else, she needs a place to go. We could—"
"No, Fredrick. We are not adopting her." Edith's voice was sharp. She clutched their daughter closer.
"She's just a child. Alone. What do you expect?"
"She could be cursed. A girl in the woods, her mother dead? We don't know what she is."
Fredrick stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I grew up without parents, Edith. I know what it does to a person. I won't let it happen again."
Edith sighed heavily. "She can stay...but not near me."
Fredrick smiled faintly. He hugged his wife before returning to Della.
—
A few hours later, Della stood behind Fredrick as the town magistrate inspected the home, flanked by guards.
"She'll be buried properly," the magistrate said. "But... you're sure about the girl?"
Fredrick glanced down at the tiny figure half-hiding behind his legs.
"Yes. I'm sure."