Thunder echoed in the distance. A streak of lightning cut through the nighttime shadows as the wind howled mournfully against the great window. A certain heavy lull hung thick in the air as Headmistress and Deputy Headmistress sat together in a comfortable, tired silence. After the long day they had, the two of them found themselves drawn to one another as if fearing that they were leaving things unsaid, yet neither seemed to know where to begin.
"You must think I'm foolish, Hecate," Ada spoke at last with a sigh, "for always believing that I can find the good in my sister."
A sad smile flickered briefly across Hecate's lips.
"I don't think you're foolish," she answered softly. "I'm just afraid to see you hurt again. She may be your sister, but it is quite clear she does not have your best wishes at heart."
"You mustn't worry too much about me," Ada chucked cheerlessly.
Hecate lowered her head slightly.
"Perhaps," she agreed reluctantly, never doubting Ada's skills as a witch, "but that's easier said than done when you… care about someone so much… when you love someone…" She stared down at her hands folded tightly in her lap. "And I-I do, Ada… love you, I mean."
There was a heartbeat. A blink. Ada raised her bright blue eyes to meet Hecate's widened chocolate brown ones. She had said too much. She was out of line. Hecate's vision blurred as tears stung her eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered as Ada opened her mouth to respond.
Ada hadn't been given the chance to speak before Hecate quickly jumped to her feet, reached into her own pocket, and produced a handful of powder. Hurriedly but clearly, she spoke the chant and blew the silvery powder, watching with a sinking feeling in her chest as it enveloped Ada. A moment passed as an unsettled look slipped onto her countenance.
"Hecate," she spoke with confusion heavy-laden in her voice as she looked into the face of her teary-eyed Deputy Headmistress. "Are you all right?"
Hecate took a deep, shaky breath that nearly sounded like a gasp. Ada could remember nothing of her confession. Though this thought alone should have comforted her, she could not seem to fight the feeling of sorrow tugging at her ribcage.
"I'm fine," Hecate assured her, though the words sounded untrue even to her own ears.
"Have a seat," Ada offered softly, "and do tell me what's troubling you."
Hecate cleared her throat, not daring to meet Ada's gaze.
"No," she said, more sharply than intended. "It's getting late. I have much to do before morning."
And with the sudden snap of her fingers, Hecate was gone.
To be continued