Hello, everyone! Happy Holidays to all! I hope everyone had a great holiday! I published this story earlier this week, and had a change of heart. I decided I could do ten times better than what I originally published, and for that I'm sorry. But, I hope you guys will like this rewritten version! Please let me know! Remember to review so I know your thoughts, and if you want to know when a new chapter will be out hit the alert button. If you love the story already then hit the favorite button. Thanks again, guys!
Dark clouds rolled over the outskirts of Castle Cullen. The wind whispered loudly in the night, causing the branches of trees to creak and groan. Shutters slammed heavily against the stone walls, and horses neighed and pawed at the stable doors, knowing something was amiss. The rain came down in heavily droplets-soaking the earth and washing away the red stains of battle. Most of the inhabitants of Castle Cullen were tucked away in their soft, warm beds. Most. A dark cloaked figure ran quickly out of the castle gates and into the haunting woods surrounding the castle. The figure moved with familiarity. Clearly having made this journey a dozen times before.
Up ahead in the distance there was a small, old, cottage. Vines curved up and around the cottage, gripping and engulfing the cottage like a sinister snake; the shutters hung limply off the window by one nail, and smoke rose up and out of the ancient chimney. The howl of a wolf could be heard in the distance, striking fear into the cloaked figure. Quickly pulling the wooden door open, the cloaked figure ran inside and slammed the door behind her.
"They're coming," The cloak figured whispered in fear, pulling down the hood of her cloak. The figure was a young woman of no more than eighteen years, with bright, piercing blue eyes and raven colored hair. Her features were delicate and doll like; her lips a plump pink color. Under her cloak she wore a gown-made of the finest silk-and colored in a deep, rich purple. A locket, which hung delicately between her heaving bosoms, displayed the Cullen crest proudly.
A significantly older woman-with hair all out of place, and grey hazed over eyes- was shuffling through a cabinet of jars in the corner. "Yes, Mary Alice, I am well aware of the beast outside. We don't have much time. Lock the door and think of something that will distract that the mangy mutts."
Giving a quick nod, Mary Alice bolted the door shut and ran to a table in the corner. The table was littered with many small hay figurines. Each different in size and appearance, and sporting either a lock of hair, or a piece of clothing. But there were four figurines Mary Alice was focused on. Four figurines shaped like large wolves. Mary Alice picked up the figurine with a strand of black and mumbled Latin quietly to herself. The wind outside picked up faster and slammed against the small cottages, and the few candles in the cottage flickered and dimmed as Mary Alice spoke.
"Mary Alice," the voice of the old hag yelled out, "It's time."
Mary Alice broke out of her trance and turned towards the woman. "But the wolves…"
"Forger the wolves! We don't have time," She stressed. May Alice gave a slight nod and walked swiftly over to the boiling cauldron above the fire.
"Give me your hand, child," the hag said holding out her hand. Mary Alice gently placed her hand in the hags, and flinched when the sharp blade of a knife cut into her delicate palm. Blood trickled down the pale hand and dropped into the cauldron. The cauldron popped; the candles went out; a howl pierced the air.
The hag's breath caught in her throat, "They're here." She dumped the contents of the cauldron into a small bowl. Handing the bowl to Mary Alice, the hag drew a pattern in the stones of the wall and watched in satisfaction as the stones creaked and broke apart-revealing stairs to a dark passage way.
Wolves threw their heavy bodies against the wooden door. It shook and creaked and started to give in. Handing Mary Alice the small bowl, the hag shoved her towards the stairs. "You know what to do, child. Do what needs to be done. Don't look back. No matter what. And bring back the girl, Mary Alice." The wooden door gave out and four, huge wolves stalked their way into the cottage. Their lips were pulled back to reveal sharp, canine teeth ready to kill their enemy. Mary Alice stood in shock. She had never seen these beast up close before. Only in stories and drawings her father had shown her.
Mary Alice shook herself out of her daze and looked at her lifelong friend. "What about you? Surely you are coming."
"Afraid not, child," the old hag smiled affectionately. "'Tiss my time." Before Mary Alice could protest the old hag redrew the symbols on the stones, and the passage slowly started to close back up. The last image Mary Alice saw was of her old friend squaring off against the huge beast.
Mary Alice wiped the tears quickly off her cheek, and took a deep, shaky breath. She didn't have time to think of the sad events that were going on upstairs. She had a duty to perform for her Kingdom, her father, and her brother. Making her way quickly down the stairs, Mary Alice thought of all she had to do. It shouldn't be hard to bring the girl here. But after that, after that it would be a struggle. What if her old friend was wrong? What if this girl couldn't help? Or what if she caused more problems? She tried not to think of the "what if's". Instead choosing to believe that her old friend was right.
She made her way down the rest of the stairs and down a short corridor, stopping in front of a mirror. The mirror was magnificently tall-reaching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Gold, intrinsic designs bordered the mirror. There was a peculiar hum in the air; the mirror almost seemed to be alive.
Mary Alice dipped her finger into the bowl and smeared the contents along the edge of the mirror. Murmuring Latin as she performed her task. The glass of the mirror swirled and the humming intensified until the image of a young girl appeared. Her clothing was significantly different than what Mary Alice was wearing. The girl seemed to be wearing an odd pair of trousers and a short sleeved shirt. If it wasn't for her long brown hair and ample bosom, Mary Alice might have believed her to be a lad. Or at least a woman trying to pass as a lad. The young girl was hunched over a thick book. She was entranced in the book, Mary Alice thought. Even noticing the young woman wipe away a stray tear from her eye. Looking closer, Mary Alice could tell the young woman was reading a story close to her own heart; a story about her brother, Edward. Confirming that this was the correct girl, Mary Alice took a deep breath before steeping through the mirror.