Witch Veiling Novels & Stories

Jared gave me a wry smile. “You've been very busy with everything of late. Don't be hard on yourself, okay? It's not your fault,” I consoled. “Thanks,” “So what was that veiling thing you were talking about?” I asked, curious to know. “Oh, it's an invisible covering and barrier to safeguard the festival from the human world. A powerful witch would be there to cast the concealing spell,” he said, and that got me intrigued. I want to see what it looks like and I was glad that I was going to be able to witness it, at least.

Switching rein hands, he pulled its twin from a similar position with the same deftness he did the first. Veils. The preferred weapons of the seminary. Every priest had a pair, and while they knew their way around almost any weapon, the veils were always their preferred choice, the weapon of the seminary. No other people used such weapons, and no blacksmith within the realm made such. Owning one when one was not a priest was a sacrilege in and of itself punishable by death.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a subtle tilt of his head. Your call. Right. “No more half-answers,” Aria adds. My wolf rumbles. Good. I drag a hand down my face, then look back at her. “Alright,” I say. “Then listen carefully.” She nods once. “The Veil isn’t just… some abstract thing we use to stay hidden,” I begin. “It’s not just about keeping humans and hunters from knowing we exist.” Her brow furrows slightly as she listens. “It’s more than that,” I continue. “It shapes how the world overlaps.”

Abigail, veiled in a bridal veil, embodies the epitome of grace and elegance. Her white gown drapes softly around her, flowing like a river of silk, whispering secrets of timeless beauty. It hugs her figure in all the right places, accentuating her curves with delicate precision. The intricate lacework adorning the bodice tells a story of intricate craftsmanship and devotion, much like the love that binds us together.

Dawn arrived without ceremony, without pity, creeping pale and grey across the camp like a sickness. The witch was already awake. She looked at me once—my bloodshot eyes, the tremor in my hands, the way my shoulders hunched as though bracing for a blow—and nodded. “White,” she said, pressing the cloth into my hands. “You will stand clean before the river so he has nothing over you again.” My fingers fumbled as I wrapped the cloth around myself, the fabric too light, too bright. ‘A shroud,’ Vethros purred. ‘She dresses you like something meant to be buried.’

He held the veil firmly. I also turned to the healer… what was he saying? Sacrilege? What sacrilege? “What?” Beta Ilan sounded so confused. He was the only one confused, I was too, but in my confusion I tried to fish out any reason that would be solid enough to have the Beta off my neck. “Women, maidens, girls that go veiled are dedicated to the goddess by birth or by choice. Don't you see the Blessed Circlets around her wrists?” Both of our heads turned, I and the Beta's, towards the bracelets I had around my wrists.

She shook her head in denial. "N-N-No first close your eyes." she said to them to which the looked at each other. "C-C-Close na." she whined at them so they silently closed their eyes. She waved her hands in front of their eyes trying to check that the were peeking or not but they weren't. Vanessa turned around on the bed that her back was facing them. She immediately removed her dupatta(veil) from her head and taking her hands back slowly unzipped her blouse. She slightly slide the sleeve down from her left shoulder and then spoke excitedly.

She stood tall in midnight robes, and her eyes glowed with a faint violet light. “Your Majesties,” she said as she bowed low before me. “You called.” I did not waste any words on her. “The masquerade hall requires full covering. Wards against intrusion, illusion, blade, poison. Every entrance. Every window. Every shadow.” The witch nodded once and replied calmly. “It shall be done.” I continued with my instructions immediately. “Extend it. Across Varynia. Strengthen the border veils. Conceal troop movements. Muffle scouting spells.”

Her whole arm extended, finger aimed at the sky, her face turned upward with an expression that was pure Thornblood, pure recognition, something she had been taught to identify and had hoped she would never see. I looked up. There were two moons. The first one sat where it always sat. The second had risen beside it, enormous, three times the size of the first, the colour of old blood, casting a red light across the road and the tree line and all of our faces. Vera stepped out of the truck and looked up and grabbed my arm. "The Veil is already tearing," she whispered. Her voice was stripped of everything except urgency. "Not in hours. We have hours, not days. This changes everything.”

"Vincent! If you drive away now, we'll never be husband and wife!" But he left anyway, not looking back. Grace had always loved seeing him in white, so he threw aside the black suit I had sewn for him with my own hands and changed into white. A year later, Vincent returned. By then, my belly was swollen with life, and I was holding onto another man while hosting a baby shower. And the man wore the black suit Vincent had thrown away. Vincent went mad, claiming he was my husband, but no one believed him. ...