Gray Haired Witch Novels & Stories

he yelled. As I rushed to free him, a woman appeared from nowhere. She looked like she was in her late 50s, with gray hair and a gaunt face. Her bloodshot eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness, but also a hint of malevolence. She looked like a witch. "Untie me, don't let her distract you!" Alpha Ralph begged, his voice laced with fear. The old woman cackled, her voice sending shivers down my spine. "You think you can stop the wrath of my curse? You lie!" Her laughter echoed through the woods, sending birds flying away in terror.

With her hands on her waist she asks, "and what color is it?" "Oh!" they both say together. "Yeah, she should have silver colored hair which explains the transformation." "So if I get you right, my hair is this color because I'm the Witch Supreme?" Sarah asks and they all nod. "What are you?" she asks Katrina. "A witch as well, Supreme." "And since I'm the Witch Supreme I'm the most powerful right?" she asks again and they nod again. Sarah goes silent and they all watch her, Jason and Lukas seem nervous because they don't know what her reaction to that would be.

And right there, by the bowl, stood the Witch. She was somehow less and more than the tales. Not a hag. She looked like a lady maybe in her forties, with locks the hue of cinders and frost, flowing free. She had on a plain, deep gray cloth gown, but it soaked up the light. Her features were ashen, pointed, and totally blank. But her eyes... they were timeless. The shade of a winter horizon pre-storm, holding an abyss, a vastness that vowed no meanness or mercy, just a huge, uncaring might.

A witch who has lived through the rise and fall of eras and empires she looks pretty young. No younger than twenty-five. How is that even possible? How can she be this young, this stunningly gorgeous and a witch of the first order? I stood in awe with Kiara and Michael by my side. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Her piercing black eyes stared into mine. Her hair contrasted her skin color in the most outerworldly way. The black of her eyes matched with the pitch blackness of her hair which contrasted with the pale whiteness of her skin.

My chest rose and fell with deep, powerful breaths. The platform shook with sound. Cheers, claps, voices lifted high. The witches erupted into applause, their chants turning to cries of triumph. Blue lifted her head, her black fur shimmering under the moon. She shook herself once, proud and firm, then lowered her front legs, bowing toward the coven. The applause grew louder. Then her yellow eyes swung toward Alpha Gray. He stood tall, untying the cord of his robe. The garment slipped from his shoulders, falling away. Several of the witches near the front whispered, their eyes following the lines of his chest and arms.

Stone, her mate, stood steadfastly by her side, his posture rigid and ever-vigilant, acting as an impenetrable shield for his new family. Ms. Polly stepped forward from the front of the crowd, her presence commanding an immediate, absolute silence. The elder witch wore a flowing gown of deep violet, her silver hair woven with tiny, glowing crystals that pulsed with an ethereal, ancient light. In her hands, she carried the sacred pack basin, filled with shimmering, silver-infused water that reflected the light of the April moon shining through the high glass ceiling.

They were so powerful. The one in the middle seemed to be the head witch. She looked like she was in her sixties. Her grey hair was combed into a low bun, and her eyes were emotionless and cold, narrowing on us like a viper about to strike. When the oldest woman stepped forward and called me the daughter of the moon before saying she was expecting us, the four of us shared a puzzled look. ‘What’s going on?’ Flynn did a group mindlink. Rowan grabbed my hand, and we approached the witches.

My knee became weak, completely giving up beneath me and I was forced to lay on my back. Through my blurred vision, I watched as the ball of light float in the sky above me and the forest below came alive and everything was different. Couldn't tell if I was imagining things but what I am seeing looks a lot like the old picture of the legendary witch mountain- the silver mountain that I once saw in the pack's history book. For a brief moment, I was able to feel my wolf again and my father's worried voice asking about my whereabouts came through the link. I told him I am on the Silver mountain before the link went off but am sure no one will believe the tale to be true. Gently, the ball of lig

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wet. "Listen to me," I said quietly. "You are Cressida Ashcroft. Half-griffin. Hockey player. My responsibility." I held her gaze. "You are not a witch. You have never been a witch. The ice is griffin magic. The wings are griffin magic. The binding was a griffin binding." She nodded. "Say it." "I'm half-griffin." "Say it again." "I'm half-griffin." I pressed my forehead to hers. "You're going to walk in there. You're going to answer their questions. And when I say we're done, we're done. Do you understand?"

Let's try again, please! “Of course,” the witch replied quietly, taking a new bowl and starting to put the ingredients back into it. But no matter what I imagined, no matter what image of Arthur I kept in my memory, the result was the same. There were already six gray eggs in front of me. Each time, opening my eyes and seeing the changed color of the shell, I looked hopefully at Anna, and each time she smiled shyly at me, starting all over again. - Honey, I'm really sorry, - taking the seventh gray egg from my hands, the witch sympathized with me, - but maybe we'll stop? It's time to admit the obvious, no matter how painful it is.