the uncovened

00

THE SPRING of 1718 brought about unfold tragedies for la nouvelle-orléans. the newly discovered french settlement was painted red in the form of rain, fire hissed across the fields in defiance as the foreigners planted roots that sprouted like the silverbell tree, water flowed on to the land washing away what was left of the scorching flames, and on the final day when the lunar crescent cried out a call, the firstborns started to fall.

in the midst of it all, stood towering over the accumulating dead bodies and at the center of the hellfire that stubbornly persisted, despite the salt water that clawed on to the soil, was the boisbelleau family. their eyes bloomed as bright as lilac and their hair was as fair as the clouds that rained down from above.

the three witches joined by blood sung out a song in a harmonious tune. each one different, one as high as the moon and the other as low as the morning tide all congregated as one:

when the light's at the apex
and the crows bring the flood
on the crescent city court
it'll row with blood
a path of putridity
down the old stone, wooden hall
the last wave of darkness
will devour them all

but there was one with deceit rolling off her tongue. her voice, high nor low, held the gentleness of the feathers on the crows that circled overheard. she sung a different song in her heart as she called on the moon to take back what was given to the three.

silver took hold of her hair, charging from the roots to the tips, and her eyes illuminated a cold metallic blue. all three sister's skin pruned, their beauty faded along with their immortality. the eldest lurched forward, a diatribe on the youngest, but she found herself far too weak to silence the foolish girl. instead, she used to her dying breath to ensure her damned soul would live on through the boisbelleau coven with a curse that allowed her to siphon their untapped powers for 4 centuries time to come.