All Chapters of Bewitched: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Once, she had been called a princess. The word had been spoken with formality, with a trace of duty in her father’s voice, but never with the warmth she had imagined belonged to it. The title had not been something she wore like a crown, but rather something placed upon her as one might set a veil over a face—there, visible, but not felt. She had told herself it was enough, that simply to be acknowledged as such was better than nothing. Now even that was gone. The word had slipped away the moment her father’s heart had stopped beating.She did not think of herself as cruel, but she could not deny the thought that had haunted her since: she had not wept for him. Not truly. She had sat in silence, listening to the mutter of voices in the corridors, the shuffling of servants, the hollow sound of footsteps moving through halls where silence had fallen like a heavy cloak. Yet no tears came. The grief she felt was not for his death, but for what it left her with. She hated herself for it, ha

The path that leads to the attic has always felt different from the path to my own chambers. Cleaner somehow, though no servant ever admits to dusting the stairwell, and brighter too, as if the windows here breathe in the air more freely than the rest of the castle. Perhaps it is only my mind that gives it such a quality, because I remember how often I fled here when Father occupied the library below. He could never abide the way I whispered or hummed lines aloud when a story carried me too far to keep still. I would forget myself, forget him, and he would frown in that grave, weary way of his. Here, however, no one complained. The attic was patient. The books and trunks never minded if my voice slipped into their silence.It was the same servant who carried away my family’s portrait after Father’s death who told me she had placed it up here, away from Tremaine’s watchful eye. I was grateful, though she never admitted whether she did it out of loyalty to me or only to the memory of the

To me, having to fear the morning should have been a common occurrence. The beginning of my predicament occurs at daybreak. And the fact that it's this morning indicates that the ball will be held tonight. I've been thinking about it since I realized I'd be on pins and needles waiting to see what would happen. Because Tremaine often brings terrible news, I'm guessing the ball is nothing like the name itself.    I get out of bed. My gaze is drawn to the shuffled books on the table that I discovered in the attic. I remembered reading them till I became drowsy, but I have no recollection of what I read. I jerk my gaze to the window, which is only half open because the other side is damaged. The sun’s upper limb rises beyond the horizon, enabling a ray of light to fall on the lovely trees in front of my chamber. The light was split into many beams, which thankfully helped to reduce the amount of sleepiness on my face. I feel revitalized and energized al

The forest is so dark. We walked through the meadow, which was snappy under our boots. When we look up, the trees have become skyscraper-like shadows, looming above us. Steep, shadowy pines shoot high into the haze like spears. Spotty stars and sky can be seen through tree cracks, with the moon beaming through a lattice of leaves.It was only a few moments ago that we decided to enter the forest, and we've already been strolling for almost a minute without saying anything. We follow the barely discernible black trails winding through the floras of the undergrowth. Only our breathings and the snapping twigs, grass and weeds sliding against our trouser legs, can be heard.When the wind whips through the leaves and creaks the tree trunks, I clutch myself tighter, adding to my unease. I despise how silent Flynn is, so I have to come up with a way to get him to talk. Seriously, the night woods scares the living daylights out of me.

The shattered glass pane where we staked our lives jumps with us. As we descend, shards of it fall like glitters in all forms, making lines on my skin. My hair seems to collect traces of it, which irritates my scalp. We land on a palace's concrete thoroughfare, which thankfully hasn't been broken into. I glance upward to find faces peering down on us, inquisitive of what our idiotic stunt had resulted into. The little noises produced by the shattered glass window reverberate like overturned coins. If I hadn't taken a few quavery breaths, I wouldn't have realized I was trembling. People crowding around the window have splintered us, and the cacophonous conversation has just added to my uneasiness. I instantly avert my gaze to the concrete we'd fallen from, fearful of seeing the Prince or Lady Tremaine peering down at us. Despite the fact that it is dark and the cuts on my flesh from the fall are not visible, I can feel them itching and aching. When I hear Flynn giggle