Novel & Cerita Author Margaret Way

Ashina - My mind suddenly dawned on me that I had another question to ask Margaret. I think I am going to refer to her as Lady Margaret from now on. My heart pounded and I jumped up, running after her into the pack house. The fact that she turned around slowly and raised her eyebrows at me when I approached, tells me she sensed my approach.

He had no idea what the hell was happening, but even he realized the atmosphere had shifted. Margaret set her juice aside. Her fingers tightened on the rim of the glass. Her voice, when she spoke again, had lost all of its polite rhythm. “…So he’s gravitating back to her again.” Natalie swallowed. “Yes.” A sound escaped Margaret’s throat, something between a scoff and a bitter laugh. It was elegant, but dripping venom. “That girl,” Margaret said slowly, “is like a weed in a rose garden. Every time we pull her out, somehow she grows back. Pathetic.”

Ryleigh didn’t even flinch this time. She was too numb. Too tired. Margaret stepped forward slowly, her eyes flicking over the bruises Ryleigh hadn’t had the chance to hide. “Well,” she said coldly. “Isn’t that poetic. The poor little servant girl thought she could outrun wolves.” Ryleigh stared at her, saying nothing. Margaret smiled, cruel and sharp. “Get her cleaned up. Then put her back where she belongs.”

Margaret resided in a quaint cottage on the edge of town, a hidden gem nestled amidst a lush garden bursting with vibrant flowers. Knocking on the weathered wooden door, Emma's heart raced with anticipation. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a stooped figure with wisps of gray hair framing a kind face. Margaret's eyes, age-weathered and filled with wisdom, peered at Emma through a veil of time. "Can I help you, dear?" Margaret asked, her voice carrying a sense of familiarity and warmth. "Mrs. Margaret, my name is Emma Reynolds, and I'm a journalist for the Silverwood Gazette," Emma began, her voice filled with earnestness and respect.

The word occasionally arrived with the faint edge of someone who had found it considerably more than occasionally maddening and was choosing, right now, to be generous about it. “Is that a compliment?” I asked. A beat. I could picture her on the other end, composed, deciding. “From me,” Margaret said, “it’s the closest thing to one.” I looked out my window. I thought about a woman I had never met who had known exactly what she was doing and had been a problem, for that reason, to the people who needed her to be smaller. I thought about a plant on a windowsill, named by a boy who had never

I said and she just smirk. “Then let's begin this, Margarette,” she said, so the two of us go down to start our battle. I can't fight with her while we are floating. I have to win this battle because I am now desperate to hear what Savannah knows about my parents' killers. “If you think you can win this battle, Margarette, then you're insane. I am an evil witch and no one can defeat me,” she said, so I can't stop to shook my head because of her.