Witch Poetry Novels & Stories

I immediately read the ingredients and tried to familiarize the steps myself. “At exactly midnight, put the ingredients together in a pot. Should be in order according to the list. The heat should come from the trunk of a fifty-year-old oak tree. Simmer while reading the enchantment until the color fades. It should be as clear as water. Cool down before serving.” The procedure seemed easy but the power it carries could alter someone’s fate. By then, I decided to risk my life and become a real witch. -- My farewell including my reasons of taking this path was written in a piece of cloth. I used charcoal as my ink and my handkerchief as my paper. After I put the letter on the table, I held on

In the middle was herb garden, small glowing orbs floated around it as blue butterflies fluttered about happily. Gerwulf placed me at one of the tables and instructed me to remove my shirt. I carefully pulled my warm sweater off and awkwardly dangled my legs from the side. "A true witch is hard to kill. Hylda thought cutting her throat would do the trick, but nope," Gerwulf turned towards me with a small glass pot in his hand. He opened it and rubbed the salve onto the bite marks. "How do you kill a witch then?" "It's much more gruesome than that. You have to pierce the heart, separate the head, and burn the body. Otherwise they'll just heal. How fast depends on how much damage they take."

She leaned into him, letting the wolf and the witch settle into the sanctuary of his arms. Outside, the wind sighed through the pines. Unseen eyes turned toward the pack lands. And somewhere beyond the forest, on sacred ground, magic stirred in recognition. The Weaver had awakened. The light had shown the way. And winter was coming.

"He fell in love with a witch from the Southern Reach. He invited her coven here, thinking to bridge the worlds just as you and Kael might." I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. "What happened?" "The coven didn't want peace. They wanted a hive. While the pack slept during a lunar eclipse, the witches cast a spell of binding. They didn't kill the wolves, they turned them into mindless puppets. They forced brothers to tear out the throats of sisters. Kael, a boy of only ten, watched his father rip his own mother apart because a witch pulled the strings of his mind."

“It’s a figure of speech. For a human, one was white and the other black.” “Oh.” She grinned. “This is an interracial romance.” Maddox chuckled. “That’s one way to look at it.” She read some more. “Together they spun magic that no other witches could make. And when they made love, they did so above a lotus-covered lake, floating, suspended in the air. A mist crept about. Those two clung to their love—with the world shut out.” He leaned back in the chair, completely captivated with her reading.

’ That sounds like what I’m looking for but I’m not sure, word choice in this book sounds old-timey. As I’m reading through the chapter, there is a section that catches my attention. ‘Potions and Runes’ and as I am reading about the potions and runes, which I don’t think I would be able to concoct, there is small footnote. It’s handwritten and I don’t know who penned the small section, but it reads: ‘Witches, while magical, are still human and weaker than wolves. Phoenix Blood will suppress their abilities long enough to eliminate their threats.’

Wanda called out loudly. All the witches hurriedly started preparing for the ritual. They draw a huge Pentagram in the middle of their town. They placed fresh heads of human sacrifices, which were arranged just for this purpose. Blood was splattered all around, making the pentagram shine blood red. Wanda arrived then, wearing a black robe. She walked into the center of the Pentagram. The other witches stood around the drawings, just outside the freshly severed heads. Wanda started chanting, and soon all the other witches followed suit as one. Different tones chanted the same spell in a chorus. As the intensity of the spells started to increase, the pentagram started to fill with a strange en

When the tray was half empty I crawled back under the covers and waited for sleep that refused to come. Hours later the moon hung high and silver through the window when the whispers started. Low and ancient words curling through the air like smoke weaving together into a chant that vibrated in my bones: DAUGHTER OF EMBER AND ASH BLOOD OF THE OLD FLAME RISE OR FALL BY THE HAND THAT CLAIMS The walls melted away as I stood barefoot in an endless field ringed by fire. Bodies lay twisted as burning wolves and witches locked together in death. Smoke stung my eyes as screams rose and fell like wind.

The room filled with the faint scent of herbs, the air thickening as her magic took hold. Arthur’s body convulsed, his breathing becoming ragged as the dark tendrils seemed to writhe under his skin, fighting against the purifying magic. The other witches joined in, their voices harmonizing in an ancient, haunting melody that echoed through the den. Gradually, the dark veins receded, the poison retreating under the witches’ influence. Arthur’s breathing grew steadier, his face relaxing as the darkness lifted. The room fell silent, the energy dissipating as the spell ended.

Roger and Clarke said in unison. “News flash, I am not myself right now,” Miranda gestured, using her thumb to point at herself. Her body was a virgin, but the one she was stuck in was not. “Pure in this case doesn't mean a virgin status,” Lazarus scratched his head. “Why are you scratching your head? That makes me even more worried,” Nigel complained. “Well, the goddess Hecate wrote this book —” He hesitated. “Who's that?” Roger asked. “She's the goddess of witchcraft,” Miranda spoke up. “I read about her in the Vanderwolf's library. She is responsible for creating witchcraft. She is who the witches praise.”