Witches Poems Spells Novels & Stories

The witches' protection spell is translated as: Above and below, In front and behind, Side to side. Protect us.

Their eyes glowing red with razor sharp teeth bare as they lunged growling, and like a tornado started tackling the pack members. “Imaginarii…” I muttered the incantation and cast a spell repeating and chanting the same and it worked confusing the enemies for a few seconds but the spell got broken. How was it possible? I thought and Eva whispered while throwing away the enemies from our members, “There is some other witch present here who knows to break the spell.” I looked around to see who could it be but found none, “Must be hiding, bloody coward.” Willow growled.

he explained, gesturing towards me. I nodded in confirmation, feeling a surge of confidence coursing through me. “But I need to find the right spell,” I added, my voice tinged with frustration as I continued to search my memory. Suddenly, it clicked. The spell resurfaced in my mind, its words vivid and clear. With a sense of relief, I began to chant the spell, channeling my witch into the strange words. As the spell took hold, I felt a surge of power coursing through me, guiding me towards the source of the magic residue left behind by Debbie’s clone. I closed my eyes, focusing all of my concentration on the spell.

The talisman's violet light flares wildly against her emerald wards, the rune's pulse stuttering in my chest like a heart caught in a trap. ​Panic spikes through my giddiness, as sharp as the thorns' kiss. ​No… this was the play. The leverage… But the spell uncoils in my veins. The fae whispers turn to deafening snarls inside my skull. The forgotten compulsion bares its teeth: Puppet. Thrall. Fool. I had thought the witches' dust was a shield, their dark brew a counter to the fae silk in my mind. But it is nothing but chaff to her storm. Her court closes in around me. Moth-wings hum with rage. Will-o'-wisps ignite into foxfire blues that sear my vision.

“What kind of oath?” “The kind that’s worse than death if broken.” My jaw tightens, patience leaving me. He’s stalling, clearly. But then he leans forward, eyes bright with something between desperation and madness. “She casts spells,” he whispers. “She makes people do things . . . and they don’t even know it. That’s how she works. She hides inside you. The White Witch.” “What do you mean?” “Rogues will rise,” he says quietly. I flinch. It’s involuntary. I recover quickly, clear my throat and straighten.

“We will begin with a standard mirror spell. This is basically a practice run, to see if we can utilize this form of communication.” “Understood.” Bianca began the chant with the witches and warlocks around her: “Mirror of truth, mirror of life, aid us in this moment of strife, share these words for all to see, let on all mirrors these words be…” Aislen opened her eyes and passed Bianca the piece of paper that was folded at her side. Bianca opened it and read the lines, rolling her eyes at Aislen in disapproval before sighing heavily. Bianca read the poem out and repeated it twice. “So mote it be.”

October's somber countenance graced the class. "A permanent sleeping spell." Was all she said before reducing her voice to a dark tone. The witches all casted protective spells on themselves, in order to not fall prey to the chanting spell. October's low voice carried through the class. "Bliss, thou can't ignore. Velvet, to thee devour. Peace, thou shalt savour. Sleep, till death occurs." Silence, then, "very good." Alvar said. "The next witch, a word spell." Snow's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Suddenly, a tiny burst of colorful sparks erupted from the tip of her wand, and a small scroll materialized in her hand. "This, my friend, is the 'Rhyme-Rite' spell," she explained, unrolling the scroll. "It's foolproof, guaranteed to make anyone rhyme for a day!" I marveled at the intricate symbols and enchanting words inscribed on the scroll. "This is incredible, Sophie! So, how do we use it?" With a mischievous grin, Sophie whispered the instructions. "We just need to recite this incantation and point our wands at the person we want to rhyme. But remember, we must use our powers wisely, and only for the sake of mischief and good fun!"

Approaching her own wand to the bone white one slowly and touching tips, she intones the reversing spell. "Prior Incantato." Moving away her own wand, the bone white wand starts to spill ghostly like forms representing the spells previously casted with it. The wizards around watch it with trepidation in their hearths while the ghostly smoke takes shape. "T-Two torture curses, followed by three k-killing curses." The wizards in the room had somber looks at the revelation, like they were remembering and imagining the horrors that the wand caused. The atmosphere in the room was turning more and more depressive, until it was broken.

"Wolf of midnight black and flame, Bound to river, bound to name. Moon above, now turn your face, Let death descend and leave no trace. Rapunzel root and blessed bloom, Drag him down, seal his doom. Blood to still and breath to break, Let the river’s silence wake." The words warble through the morning light, twisting the air around us. The other witches are watching her, silent but expectant. Then twelve more voices rise—one after another, neat and sharp. They chant together in a chorus that shakes the valley. Alone, their magic is brittle and thin, barely more than sparks. The only way it holds any power now is when they join forces, weaving their spells into a single, unified strike. No. N