Trilliant: A Royal Reversal

Prologue

1624 AD

Moonlight filtered through the tall elm trees and feebly illuminated a quaint wooden cabin. The wind whispered through the trees and everything was still, except for the periodical chirp of crickets and the odd bump in the woods.

"Sino praecantatio incipere!" Maurelle cried and flicked her ivory white wand, sending a shower of golden sparks over her crudely fashioned, rustic workbench. The shadow of a candle flame danced on the parchment of her open leather-bound spell book. With her wand in her left hand - her wand hand - she used her free right hand to turn the delicate parchment of her grimoire. On the workbench sat two identical trilliant diamond pendants that glittered in the wake of the golden flares that sprang from the tip of Maurelle's wand. The precious stones hung on two delicately embellished strands of metal that criss-crossed each other's paths. Maurelle waved her wand in slow, deliberate motions over the necklaces. A soft, yellow light stemmed from the wand, bathing the room with its brilliance.

"Spirituum et in caelo et in terra in mare," she chanted, her voice growing higher with each word she spoke, "nocte ac die-" She paused to gasp slightly as the magic began to work. The light changed to a pale blue, then emerald green, and dipped to a deep, cerulean blue, flares swirling all around her. "esto commutationem animarum, fiet duo, et erunt duo in carne una!" The last word echoed in the silence of her cabin. A shower of sparks burst forth from her wand for the second time, and the diamonds glowed for a split second. Maurelle sighed, and patted down the folds of her long black dress in satisfaction. She placed her wand on her table and shut her spellbook. The last shimmers of light vanished, her cabin returned to its darkness, and stillness descended upon the cottage once again.

Maurelle turned her back to reach for the necklaces - the fruits of her labour. She had spent countless days learning and reciting the spells she needed to perform one among the most advanced spells of all time. She put them into a tiny velvet box for safekeeping.  Would they work? She could only find out once the sun rose in the morning - maybe she would ask Darren to test it with her. Little did she know she would never get to do that.

The door to the cabin burst open, and hordes of villagers stood outside the cabin, some holding torches, others kindling. A tall figure loomed in the doorway. Stepping out of the shadows, the orange light from the flames revealed Samuel Walter, deacon at the St. Raphael Church. 

"Magic, eh?" 

"N-no," Maurelle stammered. She didn't have time to stow away her wand, and it laid on the table in plain sight, for all to see. Her spellbook didn't do much to conceal her secret either. "It's not what you think," she tried again, but she could barely fool herself, let alone the village folk and the deacon. 

More villagers stepped into her cottage. "For years we suspected you were one of the others, a witch," Samuel spat. "But now, we know you are one. You remained hidden, much longer than the others, but now you too shall go." He seized her by the wrist. She struggled against his grip, but she was no match for him. "Fetch me the ropes! Kindle the fire!" he shouted to the villagers, who bumbled about at his words. 

Samuel bound her up from head to toe and Maurelle realized she was well and truly trapped. She heard the crackling of the flames from outside and the orange haze that glowed through the window. The last shred of hope she was holding on to disappeared, like the sparks from the giant bonfire the villagers set alight. She shook and pulled against her bounds, but she knew deep within, that there was no escape from the fate that lay in front of her. And she was right. 

Together, the villagers dragged her - ignoring her strangled screams - to the blazing flames. Without a second thought, they shoved her into the inferno, and there was nothing she could do to protect herself. The fire curled up her dress, eating its way up, and soon there was nothing but a firestorm that the villagers looked upon, turning a deaf ear to the cries that came from its heart. 

The last of the flames subsided and there were only glowing embers left where Maurelle Wardwell once had been. 

The only legacy of Maurelle Wardwell that remained were the necklaces - forgotten and ignored in a tiny velvet box. 

Unlike Maurelle, their magic would last forever.