The White Owl

Silent are my foot falls across the woods of my village. Making hast in secrecy even as the full moon shines ever bright like a cold sun casting my shadow across the grass. My only company, the white owl that dwells here.

it's white wings spread catching the light of the moon creating a ghostly glow and just as silent as it follows like a second shadow.

I wonder if it can feel my aching sorrow that clings to my heart sending sharp pains as a reminder like thorns on a dying rose. Dripping with the blood of my sister. Innocent red blood. Accused by one who was green with jealousy with hair as red as her hatred. Lilith, and she was jealous of Hope's wonderful art. She said it was witch craft that made her so talented.

The night was black as the ink that sealed her fate of the false charge when she was taken from our home and set to burn as a warning to others that those who looked to the earth instead of God to create would suffer the same fate. The silly villagers wouldn't listen to my please of her innocence.

I can still feel the heat on my skin as I was forced to watch my sister cry out to keep my silence least I be burned next. Ashes silently fell with my tears; the smell of burnt flesh lingers on my tongue still.

Hope, was her name and we shared many things together in life. Part of each other yet different as the moon and stars sharing the same night. Twins, that is what are...were...Oh how we would laugh when villagers called us by each other's name! "No! I am not Hope! You have the wrong twin again! Can't you tell the difference you silly people?" Now, I would give anything to be called by her name again. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so empty.

The white owl still follows while I grieve still in silence.

'Our village was truly silly. How could they take you from me? Spill your innocent blood? How could they not see the treachery of that green eyed monster?!' They would pay, they would all pay. Just as the flames blazed hot that night so does my anger, my hate, my grief. It burns the thorns in my chest and consumes me spurs me forward.

The white owl screeches now as if it can feel the blaze in my soul.

I'm running now almost flying across the ground just as the white owl flies above me. Its cry the only sound that echoes along with my puffing breaths. My feet draw me closer to the circle of life. My holy place created by the earth just for me! Oh! If those silly villagers only knew who the real witch was!

Almost there, my blood can feel it. My heart feels lighter and I have to laugh now, caring not that only the white owl can hear me now. This was it! How beautiful it was under the glimmering moon! Perfectly cut white quartz crystals glittered and glowed in an ethereal light that felt warm as it welcomed me into its protective embrace. The grass within so soft you could sleep forever. It tickled my feet and the midnight dew reflected my tears. Finally, I can put back what was wrong and this was the place that had the power to help me.

The white owl screeched again above me as it followed the circle. It seemed to be worried but I only laughed. "Come now!" I say. "This must be done and you can not stop me!" My voice strained. Why did it cry out again? No matter, the village lay in unsuspecting wait and I couldn't linger. The fire within burned too hot, too bright to be quenched by the white owls cries.

Why did they sound like her tears?

This thought tries to needle into my mind but I'm too far gone to really care. I set to begin to light the black candles that I had waiting already in the form of the pentagram. The hour was drawing near to witching hour the moon coming to its highest point. My blood already sings with the energy all around. Glorious! This power!

The white owl continues to circle above and cry out. It sounds desperate now. Its wings flapping in earnest. "Be gone or watch in silence you silly thing least you wake the whole village with your racket!" Trying to yell but whisper only cracks at my already sore throat.

I push on with drawing out the lines in salt singing our mothers lullaby as I work but my voice now sounds cracked and chocked and no longer melodies like it once was.

"Come sleep night has fallen.

Dance with the wind

and fly with the owl who guides and protects you.

Sleep my children, night has fallen

Sleep in peace my children

and fly with the owl to your dreams."

The white owl still flies over head but now has gone silent like it was listening to me sing.

I wonder if the tale of the white owl that lead our family to safety was true as I stare at the one above for a moment. What a odd thing to thing to cross my mind now but that wouldn't matter soon. Everything was ready and so was I.

Everything had gone deathly quiet. The white owl now was perched in the willow tree that stood outside the quartz circle. It's yellow eyes focused it seemed on me in the center. It sent a long hoot that seemed to say goodbye, and I suppose that would be correct. It was goodbye.

In the fold of my brown dress the obsidian knife felt light as the owls feather as I took it out placed the tip of it to where my heart laid beneath skin and bone. With one more long look to the white circle and to owl in the willow try I began to chant the curse that would make my revenge complete.

My tongue that only tasted the ash and scent of my sisters burning flush feels heavy now as I chant. My blood feels like it boils to. I knew of pain but nothing like this. It sears to my bones in agony, still I chant on. The last verse...I plunge the knife into my heart...If Hope only felt pain at the end. So shall I and so will they.

The white owl lets out a long sad screech into the night and flies to the sky. It's the last sound I hear. My vision goes black.

Was it worth it? This pain? Blackening the white quartz circle and draining the grass of life? Just to curse this silly village?

Yes.

The white owl screeches to the village in warning but no one heads it in the dead of night with the moon still full. It cries on as a black fog approaches consuming the moons cold rays in heated tendrils. Still no one strirs...Till it's too late.

Screams echo all at once. No light to find a path, choking fog burning lungs as the silly villagers try to cough and gasp for precious air. Mothers try to cover their babies, fathers running to and fro looking for a way out. Children cry out in terror. The screams go on so loudly that the neighboring village to the east hears them shattering the night. Then it's quiet again save only for the screeching white owl who mourns the loss of the silly village.

The Village to the east never knew why the fog only came for the silly little village but that morning after they say that the white owl flew with morning sun as if to rid the night of the terror had passed.

The villages in east village named the owl Hope.