A Werewolf Sex Tale With Some Plot In It: Witches They Couldn't Burn

The awakening✅

June POV

In a town forgotten by time, where weathered houses leaned like ancient elders and cobblestone streets whispered tales of old, resided two young wizards named June and Vastos. These two were beastmancers, the keepers of an ancient and powerful art that granted them the ability to communicate with and command magical creatures. Their bond was as profound as the depths of the ocean and as luminous as the stars that adorned the night sky during their enchanting rituals.

Despite the town's material poverty, it brimmed with a wealth of spirit and mystic energy. However, the potent magic that flowed through its veins was held captive by the stringent laws enforced by the town's elders, who harbored a deep-seated fear of its uncontrollable force. June and Vastos shared a vision of a world where their love and magic could flourish without the shackles of oppression. They made a pact that, following the sacred ritual of claim-an empowering ceremony to affirm their mastery over magic-they would flee together.

"Are you afraid, June?" Vastos inquired, casting a curious gaze in my direction, his expression as enigmatic as ever. His unexpected question caught me off guard, prompting a furrowed brow and a hesitant glance back at him.

"Yes, I am scared" I responded slowly, as if carefully selecting my words to articulate my innermost thoughts. "If today's ritual were to falter, we might jeopardize our very souls. It is a weighty matter that cannot be taken lightly," I confessed.

"Have no fear, My love. We shall execute the ritual flawlessly, and once the revelry commences, we shall vanish into the southern horizon," Neith reassured me.

Yet, a disquieting restlessness gnawed at my core. Lately, nightmares had plagued my slumber, though I attributed them to the impending ritual. I had kept these nocturnal terrors to myself thus far, harboring them in the shadows of my mind. Little did I know that the future held unforeseen twists and turns. When a witch or warlock reached the age of fifteen, the coven convened in the heart of the woods on the longest night of the year, during the winter solstice, to unveil the true essence of their magic.

On the night of the ritual, the coven encircled themselves within a ring illuminated solely by a sinister blaze conjured by their wands. Clad in pristine white robes, they chanted fervently, while June and Vastos, attired in somber black, stood out amidst the sea of white. The witches' voices reverberated through the sacred grove, as the warlocks gazed skyward at the waxing moon, their eyes ablaze with an otherworldly emerald glow. A dense, shadowy mist began to coalesce at the periphery of the circle, emanating from the incantations of a witch at the edge of the congregation.

Wolves and vampires stood as sentinels to their ritual, their feral forms lurking in the shadows.

"May the purity of your heart shield you from the shadows that seek to engulf you. Enter the circle, unblemished youth, devoid of fear," the coven intoned in unison, beckoning Vastos forward to embrace his destiny within the mystic circle.

With trepidation, I cautiously step across the fiery threshold and find myself enveloped in a dense shroud of mist, the weight of sorrow heavy upon my heart as the anguished cries of eighteen witches and warlocks, devoured by flames, echo through the air. In their fleeting existence, they succumbed to the allure of their desires and passions, surrendering their bodies and souls to beloved ones or mere distractions, thus tarnishing themselves for the sacred rite.

Within the sacred circle, only nine of us remain, holding back our tears in fear that even a single drop upon the earth could extinguish the dark flames and consign us all to purgatory.

Yet, we have withstood the initial trial. Our gazes turn skyward to the moon above, allowing the chilly night air of the forest to dry the tracks of tears on our faces as we brace ourselves for the challenges that lie ahead.