Evening soon came and Carla, like Eric, disappeared after our lesson. She,
too, was a great teacher, patient and kind. She made sure I understood
everything before she moved on. Even so, she taught fast.
That night, I was about to go into the kitchen when I heard dad and someone talking. "...only the woodbanes will live, the others, like MacGothen and Davis, must die." I heard Dad say. "Understood." The other voice replied. I heard footsteps and quickly hid behind the circle room's door. When I heard the other person leave, I stepped out to face my father.
"Dad," I said, "Morgan?" he turned to face me. "What were you talking about just now? What did you do to Eric and Carla?" I asked, dreading the answer. "They couldn't live anymore," he said, as if that explained everything. "Why?" I asked softly, "Why must you do this time and again?" I asked, my voice rising. "Why are you such a cold-blooded witch?" I yelled. Looking at him, I found his reaction familiar. Just as in the power sink that night, he slapped me, harder and more viciously, on the same cheek.
"When are you going to realize that magick is neither good nor bad? That only the strong survive?" he shouted at me. "Maybe never, maybe I'll never understand you, maybe I'm not even your daughter!" I yelled angrily. I could see that he was getting steadily angrier. He slapped me again, this time the hardest of all. Holding my swollen cheek, I ran up the stairs and into my room, locking the door. =Why?= I thought, =Why? Why was my father a cold-blooded murderer? Maybe I really never understand him.= I thought sadly.
Ciaran
I stood outside the circle room, shaking with anger. Why couldn't Morgan understand? Why did she still want to be a "good" witch? Eric and Carla would have betrayed us had we not killed them.
I was sure Morgan hated me by now. I had hit her time and again. Deciding to check on her, I walked silently up the stairs and stopped outside her room, unlocking the door magickally, I cast my senses. She was sleeping.
Opening her door, I walked to her bed. Looking down at her, I noticed that her cheek was thoroughly swollen now. Oops! My anger had taken over me. Touching her cheek, I kissed her forehead and tucked her in. "I'm sorry," I whispered. [I'm sorry, too.] her witch message floated across my mind,
Realizing she was awake, I stopped in my tracks, she opened her eyes.
Morgan I opened my eyes reluctantly. Dad stood by my bed, looking at me regretfully. He sat down on my bed. "I'm sorry," I told him, looking into his hazel eyes. "I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry for being so..." I paused, searching for the right word. "Ignorant?" he supplied helpfully, I nodded.
"I'm sorry, too, I shouldn't have hit you," he said, gesturing at my swollen cheek. "Are you alright?" he asked, surprisingly gentle. "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, touching my cheek. Looking guilty, he slipped out of my room.
After dad left, I fell asleep, this time, for real.
That night, I was about to go into the kitchen when I heard dad and someone talking. "...only the woodbanes will live, the others, like MacGothen and Davis, must die." I heard Dad say. "Understood." The other voice replied. I heard footsteps and quickly hid behind the circle room's door. When I heard the other person leave, I stepped out to face my father.
"Dad," I said, "Morgan?" he turned to face me. "What were you talking about just now? What did you do to Eric and Carla?" I asked, dreading the answer. "They couldn't live anymore," he said, as if that explained everything. "Why?" I asked softly, "Why must you do this time and again?" I asked, my voice rising. "Why are you such a cold-blooded witch?" I yelled. Looking at him, I found his reaction familiar. Just as in the power sink that night, he slapped me, harder and more viciously, on the same cheek.
"When are you going to realize that magick is neither good nor bad? That only the strong survive?" he shouted at me. "Maybe never, maybe I'll never understand you, maybe I'm not even your daughter!" I yelled angrily. I could see that he was getting steadily angrier. He slapped me again, this time the hardest of all. Holding my swollen cheek, I ran up the stairs and into my room, locking the door. =Why?= I thought, =Why? Why was my father a cold-blooded murderer? Maybe I really never understand him.= I thought sadly.
Ciaran
I stood outside the circle room, shaking with anger. Why couldn't Morgan understand? Why did she still want to be a "good" witch? Eric and Carla would have betrayed us had we not killed them.
I was sure Morgan hated me by now. I had hit her time and again. Deciding to check on her, I walked silently up the stairs and stopped outside her room, unlocking the door magickally, I cast my senses. She was sleeping.
Opening her door, I walked to her bed. Looking down at her, I noticed that her cheek was thoroughly swollen now. Oops! My anger had taken over me. Touching her cheek, I kissed her forehead and tucked her in. "I'm sorry," I whispered. [I'm sorry, too.] her witch message floated across my mind,
Realizing she was awake, I stopped in my tracks, she opened her eyes.
Morgan I opened my eyes reluctantly. Dad stood by my bed, looking at me regretfully. He sat down on my bed. "I'm sorry," I told him, looking into his hazel eyes. "I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry for being so..." I paused, searching for the right word. "Ignorant?" he supplied helpfully, I nodded.
"I'm sorry, too, I shouldn't have hit you," he said, gesturing at my swollen cheek. "Are you alright?" he asked, surprisingly gentle. "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, touching my cheek. Looking guilty, he slipped out of my room.
After dad left, I fell asleep, this time, for real.