A Witch's Scorn- Book I

XIII

A sorceress and her garden are as mother and child, each strengthening from the care provided by one another. The role of the enchantress is to provide balance. While the role of the mother, much like the soil, is to protect and support the life that dwells within.

In mourning people bring flowers into hospital rooms and lay them atop of graves. They're even sent to express love. People plant them in their yards even though they bear no edible fruits. There was something about the beauty of flowers that witches needed for their whole being—to be a good sorcerer that is. Emory sometimes wondered if without the ability to contact her ancestors through the earth's soil would her heart stop.

She had always been a devoted gardener. She could never see flowers and herbs too many times—she would never tire of their magic. Each floweret has a majestic bloom, no matter its symbolism for even the toughest of souls find that flower petals are delicate works of art and their hues are medicine.

Despite her and Alexa's apartment in downtown San Francisco being unnecessarily expensive, the greenhouse on their rooftop had quickly become Emory's favorite place to go to bolster her powers. When the sky would darken and the moon rose she would find herself shamelessly practicing spells there. And no matter her mood, she would always end her studies with praise to Hecate—for all Goddess fearing witches should.

She was blessed by Hecate to have found her mate in such a powerful man. Alpha Fallon Lockhart was an impeccably strong, generous, and handsome being. She hadn't realized it until now, but in all of her prayers to Hecate she had prayed for an undying love. Over the past couple of weeks she had often thought about her life back then. It was a distant memory now.

Hecate never makes mistakes. And though her fate would be death she wouldn't have had it any other way for a love this strong shouldn't last long. She felt selfish in ever hoping that it would.

"You don't look well."

From her spot in the garden of blue irises Emory glanced up at her older sister. Stroking one of the soft petals, she spoke lowly, "My heart hurts."

Dropping to her knees before her sister, Eliana pulled her into her arms. She'd never admit it aloud, but she'd always admired her younger sister's perseverance. Granted her and her twin were half a decade older, she had always regretted how unlucky Emory had been compared to them—they had both their parents for much longer than she'd ever had them and even after their deaths, unlike Emory, they had always had one another. And still, the unintentional abandonment had never made Emory hard or cold. She was patient and kind, selfless even. And though to some that may be all qualities of weakness, Emory was indeed the strongest.

In every moment she spent away from her sister Eliana found herself mourning her death. All she could ever think when Emory smiled or laughed was how much she'd miss her. Much like her sister, her heart hurt too. It hurt for whoever the baby she was carrying would become. She liked to think that she'd tell him or her of their mother, but deep down she couldn't fathom speaking of her once she was gone let alone watching them grow without Emory. She should be there to share her own stories.

Running a gentle hand down Emory's thick mane, Eliana whispered, "You must remain strong little sister."

-

Although Emory enjoyed spending her final weeks of pregnancy quietly preparing for the upcoming birth of her precious baby with her sister by her side she had become quite down that Fallon had hardly been around when she needed him most. She was well aware that he was busy trying to protect their small family and the pack, but she had grown to resent the fact that the curse had already begun to push them apart.