Fantasy-Mystery
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Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks is under an ancient curse that threatens to collapse her existence if she does not source the creature that laid it upon her.
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In an easy-going autumnal Monday morning, the last thing Carmiabell's ill...
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“W… was that a—” Phoebi’s mouth broadened as the words found a shaky stream out of her frozen vocals.
Silence answered her as all three failed to believe what they had just seen.
Ice sheet was a direct ticket to exile out of the only land with the term peace in its vocabulary.
After the perish of the Neporian, the ice sheet was invented for safe commune between ravagers.
Considering the fact that it was etched with magic, it had a set timer that once its limit struck, the sheet turned into pure ice, consuming itself from the inside out and leaving behind an infectious liquid.
After the witches of fire and ice it was burned and claimed as one of the forbidden magic conjures that were never to be heard of again.
“You will have to bear with me, the Autumn weather seems to be a little more like winter. Some of these have burned. Just make sure you don't eat the burned parts,” Carmiabell's mother walked out of the kitchen holding a tray full of donuts between her hands. “We only have one toilet,” she chuckled at her own joke.
Told you weekend meals were a plot to keep her home.
The three faces in front of her did not respond to the joke —which she didn't bother. “I'll be in my room if you need me,” without saying anything more, she took the stairs to her room.
Luckily, she did not notice the low crackle on her front door floor. The liquid was scalding through the innocent mahogany, some part of it evaporating and leaving behind a pockmarked, unleveled floor like a hazardous acid.
Could it be the midnight prowler? There wouldn't be another explanation of how swift the knocker was. She wasn't meticulous in scanning the streets but one thing was for sure, there was no one close enough to their door to be the note leaver.
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The tale about the midnight prowler would have sounded a little gaga —okay a lot— if she wasn't narrating it to people who had experienced almost an equal share of forbidden magic, so as a result they believed her.
She didn't share her guess with them. C’mon Damon could not possibly possess glowing eyes. She was just overthinking about it because she was unaware of his lanera.
Ignoring red flags was not Carmiabell's forte, but Zuina had a way of bending all her rules.
It was clear that someone knew that they had come across a black apple, but nonetheless Zuina convinced her that it was just another coward who did not want his or her secret to be unravelled.
It was hard to take that in, considering that she was the one the arrow had been pointed at, but her mischievous troublemaker had a sweet tongue she had no way to turn down.
Sweet tongues had a way of making ugliness seem pretty, but darkness hadn't beauty, had it?
His home wasn't as close as Carmiabell thought —with a witch as long-winded as Phoebi for a coachman the journey became twice as long as it was supposed to be.
