Beneath My Exterior

A Conversation With A Witch ~Andrew

I spend far too long pondering that night. Eventually though, even Nazarees have to sleep. As I lay down in the corner of my exterior, my head resting on a velvety pillow, I'm almost too out of it to realise that she has begun her nightly flick through my memories. Mist can be pretty secretive, sometimes, but I never fail in picking up her presence. I guess when you've spent the majority of your teenage life in the same, tiny space, you notice things like that.

Every night she comes and goes. Sometimes we exchange brief telepathic conversations. Sometimes I'm too tired to talk or can't find the rights words to express my true feelings. Sometimes I forget she even exists.

But tonight, the moment I feel her, my body tenses up and I open my mouth to speak.

"I told someone, today."

No hello, no greetings. Mist doesn't mind my way of making conversation. She's put up with my boring existence since she was a toddler, anyways. Not that she has to stay in the form of a baby, though. Witches can meddle with most things mortals and Nazarees have no control over. They can speed up their age, change their appearances and tamper with time itself. If Mist's powers had developed enough in the timespan of four and a half years, she could be anyone, old or young. It's unnerving, knowing that anyone black haired and female could in fact be my curser.

Mist registers my statement almost instantly, and I hear her gasp through my mind.

"No screams?" She asks, half in shock.

"Only one." I clarify.

"I knew you could do it!"

"But it's not the same as the others." I butt in. "She found out about me by accident. Besides, I couldn't just pretend I wasn't real, Mist. She's sick with Gastroparesis. It'd be wrong to lie to her face..."

"What's Gastroparesis?" Mist asks, her soft voice projecting through my mind.

"Oh... Sometimes I forget you're only six."

"I'm seven."

"Sorry."

I can feel the young witch perk up in my head, almost as if she is part of me. She is, sometimes. A Nazaree and a witch are bound from the moment their wrong ends meet. As long as I'm under her spell, Mist and I are connected; weakly, but definitely there. If we saw each other on a particular occasion, I would know her identity in a heartbeat. And, well, at a glance at my eyes and stature, I'm pretty easy to spot, too.

"What's her name?" She asks.

The word tastes weird on my tongue as I utter it out, as if it isn't meant to be there. "Emily." I whisper, pursing my lips. The world as I know it is swallowed by darkness, not even a sliver of light seeping through the cracks in Andrew Jr.'s eyelids. Sometimes, when I squint hard enough, I can see Mist in the shadows as we talk. Only faintly, but still real. I see streaks of violet, too. Maybe it's just a sign that she's present.

"Emily." She says, repeating me. "Who has Gastroparesis."

"She saw me, you know. Did I tell you that part?"

"I kinda guessed that part, Andrew."

"Well, I was just checking."

I feel her roll her purple eyes. "So... was she curious?"

"Very."

"What'd she do?"

"She freaked out a little and put a glass over me."

"But you're okay now, right?"

I hold my hand out in front of me, remembering the warmth that had radiated off Emily's own appendage when she held me. The corners of my lips twitch upwards. "Yeah. I think so."