She was destined to be a witch since birth. The unexpectedness of her mother joining in the Grand Coven, amplified by the pain of her father leaving them, it was only so long before hex bags and curses were thrown into her corrupted life. She played...
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"Mostly it is loss that teaches us about the worst of things." ~ Arthur Schopenhauer ~~~~~
- Jackson POV -
"Darlingggg! You're doing it wrong!"
Her voice echoed through my head like a golden gong. The words replayed over and over again, making me feel more like an insignificant speck than a qualified witch. Despite the reality that magic has been a part of me for years, failure never ceased to make me tense up and quiver.
"What am I supposed to do, mother?"
My green gaze questioned meekly, only setting on hers for moment before turning back to the fraying book of incantations and test subject before me.
She waddled over, her chin held high and a soft grin resting on her painted lips. Sophie Clark was a magnificent witch, one of the best in the coven, and the superiors had no trouble in reminding me about it consistently.
That said, being her daughter was no slice of apple pie. The constant threat of hunters; the eyes of the fellow witches watching my growth, making sure Sophie's power was transforming me into a "strong young lady;" and how can I forget the pressure of doing everything correctly so I don't snap her already splintered heart?
When I was just a little girl, I remember my mother's love radiating off of her. Sophie was always a little harsh on our family, but she did it because she wanted us to succeed. She was my sunlight in this world. My father and I were her closest friends and her adoring family.
That is, until he packed up his possessions and his pride and walked out the door without a word of goodbye. I was too young to remember, but my mother always mentions his deceiving emerald eyes, which I was so lucky to inherit; an unfortunate reminder existing "just to haunt her."
My mother was desperate for his return, calling his telephone everyday in hopes he'd answer. Desperation and a broken heart don't mix, as for months all she could do was wish on fallen stars, cry her heart out, and ignore the one person who didn't leave her side.
Me.
For 22 years it has been just me and her, the strawberry-headed duo ready to hex the world and cast a spell on everyone who dared grow close to us. You learn the hard way that being a witch, spawn of my mother, is not the way to live a normal life. My years of schooling all came with a side of spell-books, and my extracurricular activities weren't exactly soccer and a round of mini golf.
When the Grand Coven took her in, it only added to the amount of spell-work I was put through. The pressure was and still is intense and I can barely speak a word without getting mocked or ridiculed by one or more of our superiors. My mother was the only one who knew I added up to something greater. I may still be in training, but I'm one of the most advanced witches of my age. Apparently, not advanced enough for our Coven.
