Closet Witch Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Their membership was revoked and they were kicked out. I believe the white witch was enraged that day.” “Did you just say white witch?” Dylan checked. “Yes, that is how the owner is referred to.” “Are you talking about a real witch or something?” “To be honest, I don't know, but what I noticed was that she only wore white clothes and had white hair.” “Is she really that old?” “She appears to be very young; no one knows anything about her. She's a mystery, but she's also the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” He couldn't believe such a thing existed, but whatever it was, it wouldn't hurt to see for himself.

Deciding to be careful, I use a simple camouflaging charm over myself. It is a basic defensive charm, nothing like the Dark-Magic-fuelled Cloak that Ann and I used to hide from the assassins. The Cloak shrouds the person completely in darkness, rendering them totally invisible to prying eyes. But it can only be used at night, and it is powered by Dark Magic, which as Venusian Witches, we aren’t supposed to use.

I cleared my throat into the microphone. “Here’s the loser’s outfit for the next hour,” I announced, gesturing toward the door as my girlfriend walked in. Just like the last time, she wore the hideous outfit with dignity—though this time, she was a witch, not an alien. The crowd applauded, and I invited her to dance. She wore a long black witch’s robe with fabric deliberately hanging from her limbs, making it look several sizes too big. The hood draped over her head, but as I stepped closer, I saw she had pinned it back with several clips so she could see.

A gold talisman hung from her neck, which I had never noticed before. “Now dear, there’s no need to be rude,” the witch laughed. I tried to look away but my gaze... I couldn't stop watching her. This was no ordinary human. Her dress dropped to the floor and feet, rotting and festering, stepped out. Red mangled strands stuck sweating onto her shoulders and back. Her hair looked thinner, bald patches spelked throughout her head. I understood now - the constant cloak and hood. The Red Witch was dying. 187 yrs old... that’s what she told me earlier tonight. That stench... it was her! This was the smell of decay that reached me in the bar.

The night sky over the Witches’ Domain shimmered with a strange hue, a pulsating silver mist flowing through the air like magic itself was alive. The trees here whispered secrets to one another, and the wind carried more than just the scent of the earth—it carried memories, power, and bloodlines long thought extinguished. Salem, a high witch and cousin to the Queen, stepped out of the twilight portal that opened near the Obsidian Stones—a gateway reserved for the ancient bloodlines. Her long midnight-blue cloak trailed behind her, brushing the moss-covered stones as she descended the forested path toward the sacred hall.

Many regarded her as a dangerous and untrustworthy being, but Cayden had learned that sometimes, in the realm of shadows and deceit, one must align with the very darkness they seek to conquer. An unsettling aroma of herbs and incense filled the dimly lit room as Cayden pushed open the creaking door of the run-down house. Shelves lined the walls, laden with mysterious artefacts, dusty spell books, and potion vials. The witch, draped in a cloak of midnight black, emerged from the shadows with an enigmatic smile playing upon her lips.

I try to say kindly placing the cup and saucer on the small table beside me. The witch across from me considers me carefully as she rocks back and forth in her seat. Her gray hair is streaked with white stripes and pulled into a long tight braid that lays over her shoulder. An old floral dress covered with a light blue apron is not what I expect a witch to wear. She looks like nothing more than a human grandmother. Letting my eyes glance around the room there is no sight of Ella. Old wooden furniture is covered by quilts and cushions. Shelves line the walls filled with jars of herbs and spices and a large black cauldron sits by the fireplace. Walter is leaning beside the front door wi

“I know the witch who did that. Is Roselia working for you?” Gildeon didn't need to see the cloaked witch’s face to sense how this fact rattled them. He figured some witches were acquainted in various ways, but it still piqued his curiosity. “How do you know her?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the cloaked witch. “Roselia,” the teenagers chorused, “used to be one of us.” Both clapped their hands, making Gildeon blink. The cloaked witch disappeared in an instant, and the hovering dolls disintegrated like the first ones.

It was the birthday of the alpha of a neighbouring pack and most of the high ranking wolves had gone to attend. Without permission, I snuck out of the residence, followed the fence and went to where the witchs’ house was. It was at the edge of the estate. A small two roomed hut with a tiny window and door. There were creepy plants growing all over the sides making it look really spooky. After a short hesitation, I walked forward and knocked on the door softly. There was no answer. “Jamile,” I yelled. “Are you in there?” The door opened immediately, and a middle aged woman stood there. Her arms were full of bangles and she was wearing a long black dress. Over it was a bright red cloak, staine