❝just ourselves and immortality.❞
Daisy Mercer has been told her whole life that vampires are the enemy. Witches are trustworthy. Daemons, well, daemons aren't even worth remarking on. And vampires would kill you without a second thought. But when...
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☾ ☽
AT DUSK, THE COVEN MET. Gillian often offered up her home to be the center of the coven, not only in terms of space but the fact that her home sat nearly in the center of Oxford. There was a part of Daisy that thought her friend might have had something of an ulterior motive to her generosity, to make more of a name for herself in their coven. Gillian had always seemed to crave more recognition and respect than she got. Most of the time, it looked related to her education aspirations; others it looked related to her magic. Either way, Gillian's home was the meeting place of their coven more than any other.
There was something about the equinoxes and the solstices that brought out the most magical of feelings in Daisy. She could always feel the difference in the air when one came around—the winter solstice bit at her skin and reminded her all good things die, the spring equinox whispered in her ears that things can renew, the summer solstice said to keep her hope, and the autumnal equinox, her favorite of them all, told her to hold things that were dear to her as the leaves began to change color and fall from the trees, leaving their branches bare until spring renewed them.
Tonight was no different. Candles of all different scents and colors, one brought by each witch in the coven, sat around Gillian's parlor. The only light in the room came from those candles; other than their seemingly-eternal flames, there was darkness. Daisy brought a candle with the perfume of cinnamon, for spirituality, as did another witch. A knowing look had been shared between them when they realized. Other scents in the room included vanilla for love, and violet for wishes, and peaches for wisdom. An eclectic mix of scents to be sure, but it all seemed to melt together into one singular scent that if Daisy could put a name to it, she would call it hope.
The coven's celebration and honoring of the autumnal equinox began with the chorus of a spell that asked the Goddess for peace in the weeks to come as the world around them grew darker and colder. The candles' flames would flicker at the very end of it and they could breathe again. The rest of the celebration was smaller, mixing herbs together and sharing a single spell with the others to add to their own grimoires for the autumn season. Daisy was gifted a spell that would help her see the future more clearly, as clarity was something she longed for and they all knew it, and in return gifted a spell that helped with concentration.
Yet even through the celebration, something was different. It was a subtle change, but even the equinox could not have covered it up. No one spoke of it, not directly at least, but one could tell just by stepping into the room. The disturbance hadn't only been felt at the Bodleian Library. All throughout Oxford, every witch felt it. Their heart in their ears, their blood coursing through their veins, their lungs filling with something that made breathing difficult—and then it all disappeared.
Something had happened the day of the autumnal equinox. Nothing would ever be the same.
