Sigils Witch Novels & Stories

voice I didn’t recognize spoke up. His voice demanding respect without yelling. “Listen up little girl. You don’t make demands here. Now, I’ll ask one more time. Who are you and why are you here?” “FUCK YOU” spat Kiara with an intense growl. “ I don’t know why you entertain these trespassers Kirian. This one clearly is a bloodsucker. She’s already threatened to drain us dry. We need to dispose of her and her wolf friends.” Said a second man’s voice full of disdain. “ First off nobody will do anything unless I say” this time a voice of a woman chimed in. Hmm, that must be the one in charge. “Has anyone tried talking to her male companions?” asked the same voice “ someone fucked up on the dos

It's slavering jaws hung open and its razor-sharp teeth were bared, as it advanced towards her with its blood-red eyes, ablaze with undisguised hunger. It occurred to Merlin that werewolves didn't normally have red eyes, something was wrong with these werewolves and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. The werewolves were not rogues, they were under a powerful spell and instinctively, she knew that only another witch could cast such a spell. The only witch that had been capable of such a feat, was Aunt May, but Merlin knew that she was dead, which meant that there was another and for some reason, this thought filled her with a feeling of growing disquiet.

I said to him. "Are you sure?" He asked and I nodded in confirmation. Ever since Killian, I didn't let myself get that physical with anyone but now I was ready to give it a try. "Are you ready?" Sigil asked, giving a seductive smile. "Yes Sigil." with my response he raised me and took me to his chambers. The next day, Sigil and Jack accompanied me to the woods that led to Donbule. Given that Donbule was the coven of witches just anyone couldn't enter.

All I knew was that she had faced some sort of torture. I asked Aunt Imeela for help regarding the sigil. It was safest to ask her for help than anyone else because she knew what was going on. Kind of at least. It was a deviation of a shadow bond, which was used to bind a witch’s will to the one who sought the bond. The witch became a puppet. The cost was that the seeker had to pay with whatever they loved the most. That could be anything, including loved ones. The deviation allowed it to be used on any creature whether it was supernatural or not.

“Then he finally accepts what you are becoming.” Zaria stiffened, but Mara didn’t wait for a reply. She gestured to the floor. “Come. Today, we begin.” ⸻ The ritual started with chalk. At least, that’s what Zaria thought—until Mara pressed a stick into her hand and she felt heat radiate from it, the faint vibration of something alive. Not chalk. Bone, burned down to ash, bound with blood. “Sigils are power,” Mara said. “Language older than speech. Every line a command. Every curve a binding. The difference between savior and destroyer is whether your hand wavers when you carve.”

“The child’s power is reacting to the lake’s seal breaking. We have to start the protection circle, now!” Outside, the howls had begun. Long, broken sounds that didn’t belong to wolves anymore. The witches rushed into formation, Elara at their center. Sera’s sister, Lys, started carving sigils into the air, her voice trembling as she chanted the first verse. I could feel the magic thickening, pressing down on my chest until breathing became a battle. Another contraction tore through me, harder this time. The pain wasn’t just physical, it felt like my magic was being pulled in two directions. One half burned silver, the other bled black.

I spat out, “well played.” My feet shuffled as I walked towards the wall, the sigil staring at me—and I could swear I saw it blink. With wide, triumphant eyes. The white, blue-eyed serpent that was the emblem of only one person that ever lived, the most sinister and shrewd of all that ever practiced sorcery, whose beauty concealed the evil that hid beneath the shadow of her very existence—the witch Orchid.

The second came from Tiffany's silver bracelets, the ones I had torn from her wrists the night I rescued her from Silver Creek. Same hand. Same style. The same particular flourish in the anchor points that marked a witch's work as distinctly as a fingerprint. "This doesn't make sense." Morgana's voice was hollow. She stood at the edge of the table, her violet eyes fixed on the matching sigils, her face pale with something that looked dangerously close to fear. "Every Bell witch is accounted for. Dead, hidden, or standing in this room. There shouldn't be anyone else capable of this kind of work."

“Blood-bound. Wolves twisted by Elias’s ritual. They’ll keep coming until one of us is dead.” Rowan’s jaw clenched. “Great.” Caleb backed toward a fallen pillar, clutching his satchel. “The sigils… if we can re-ignite them—” “Do it,” Silas said. “Mara, keep them off him.” The first thrall burst out of the mist like a nightmare made flesh — a man-shaped body with a wolf’s skull stretching its face, skin cracked and blackened around the joints. Its claws hit the flagstones with a sound like glass breaking.

"We should weave a safeguard around the child, a bond of protection attuned to a witch-lineage that will grow with the child. Not a ward built like a fence, but like a layered skin — adaptive, breathing." Delilah’s hands were the first to go to the spell components. She looked like she’d been preparing in practice for this. "We’ll need blood-ink from the river coven, a binding-sigil only the sand-witches can trace, and a facet of ice-sigil — not for harm, but for detection." Elder Kestrel nodded, producing a small vial of sand that shimmered with something like stars. Elder Halwen handed over a pinch of river-essence — damp soil that thrummed when I held it. These little items had weight I f