Witch Poetry Novels & Stories

My reflection stared back at me from the obsidian vanity mirror, the eerie glow from the specially selected moon cycle candles flickered across my skin, illuminating and emphasising my otherness. Idly, I twisted my fingers in a complex dance, whispering arcane words as I did. An emerald green flame sprung to life out of thin air, hovering perfectly over my cupped palm. I murmured more words to it, watching it shift into a flaming horse, frog, bat. Anything to keep me distracted from the preparations going on all through the quarters. The Rite of Passage was treated with as much pomp and splendour as a wedding, though most witches

The cursed wolf rested in love. The light rested in love. Love was the quiet. And it settled. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. Always. The manor rested in love. The garden rested in love. The light rested in love. The love was the quiet. And it settled. For the fleeting. For the boundless. For the interval. The story was not pursued. It rested. Every evening. In every softening. In every presence. The cursed wolf rested in love.

My mother’s grimoire. I opened it, the pages humming faintly under my fingertips. Most were written in her looping hand, but one section, toward the end, was different. The ink was darker, the words less neat. I traced the heading with my thumb: “Prophecy of the Bridge.” My pulse stuttered as I read aloud, whispering each line: “When wolf and witch unite in forbidden breath, one born of both moons shall rise. Bound by blood, marked by flame, to bridge peace or burn every line.”

On the stroke of midnight when the witches were gathered around the lawn of the mansion in the coven, the candles were illuminated on each corner giving a bright look. All the witches and warlocks were gathered. There were only three wolves. Debrah, Vlora and Crystal stood together with Travolta. Weston stood along with all the witches and warlocks to make a circle around Pidge who was laying on the middle in a rug...her eyes closed. She was given the relaxing sleep herbal tea made by Leticia. They began the chanting and after a minute the wind blew harshly...the leaves ruffled beneath the dark sky. They could hear the whistle through the cool air. In the distance, they heard the crying of t

Convinced her figure was superior to mine, she moved closer with a seductive smile, her gaze brimming with allure. In her mind, all men could be won over with enough charm and attention. This was how she had lured Henry away in our past lives, flaunting herself shamelessly under my nose. Surely this dull professor would be no different. However, she underestimated Quinn's pride and sense of morality as a man. His face darkened, and he bolted out of the room without another word. He raced down the stairs, and ran straight into the street. There, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Whose old sow got loose and ended up in my house? Come and claim her now!"

Flickering candles lined the edges of the circle, their flames dancing in rhythm with the whispers of the wind. Seraphina stood at the altar, her hands hovering over the five amulets spread before her. Her eyes were closed in deep concentration, her lips moving in silent incantation. Behind her, her coven of witches moved in unison, each of them chanting in an ancient language, their voices blending into a haunting harmony that seemed to resonate with the power of the amulets.

They rallied, their voices rising in unison, a dark chorus that filled the clearing with a palpable dread. My witch pivoted, one hand slicing through the air as another bolt of lightning erupted from her palm. It struck a second witch, the force sending her crashing to the ground in a cloud of smoke and sparks. The power radiating from Evelina was mesmerizing; it was as if the storm itself had chosen her as its weapon. The remaining witches charged, their dark forms darting like shadows. My heart raced, a primal instinct urging me to intervene.

**Winter's POV** My mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty and determination as I clutched the decoy book close. A part of me feared the witches would see through the facade and refuse to help. But I had to try—I couldn’t return to my friends empty-handed. Reaching the edge of the mystical boundary, I paused, taking a moment to ground myself. The Moonshade Lilacs greeted me like old friends, their petals shimmering softly. I inhaled deeply, the magical aroma infusing me with courage. The boundary once again parted for me, wisps of violet mist swirling in its wake, guiding my steps back into the witch realm.

When the witches had done as she said she continued, "the most used spells in history are formed through the ode weave, in this weave you describe what it is you want without actually mentioning what you want; in other words it's an unclear weave. Please, someone give an example of one. Apple's hand automatically went up and at Patricia's nod she stood with her book and read, "hear their tinkles in the wind. Cheer to thee they surely bring. Elegance so fit to crown a king. Their pretty worth, a woman's bit. Unleash to me their precious gift." "So," Patricia said when Apple sat, "does anyone know what spell that is?" Nostalgia was a heavy weight on Dea's chest for she knew the spell all too