The witch of New Orleans

ing, the city

d mute, casting nervous glances toward the Bellerose estate. No one dared speak her

itch i

h the corridor barefoot now, blood still crusted in the cracks of her palm. Her eyes had changed. Where once there had been

ed in the

black from the fire that tried to erase them. Charred spines poked out like ri

her. Marked with a

been there

me once before, in the hands of her grandmother-a woman rumored to have

k of hair curled-alive. It slithered benea

opene

e house

Symbols screamed from the parchment-letters that were more cu

he book

in a language no living tongu

Betrayal feeds. T

t dried. She kne

something sealed in by her ancestors. Something fed by the blood of the Bell

as no lon

the cellar again, heart pounding not

the circle

ing warmth into the stone. Vines writhed at its

the floor, deep and

irst Mu

ted her head

ne who smiled as your mother screamed. He dines in t

yes na

Toussaint

danced with her mother, and turned his back when the mob came to burn them alive. It w

t," she w

ged-a weapon placed in hers. It was a blade, thin as breath, made not of metal but

the house

hadow of death. She did not walk-she floated. Every step distorted

steps. A hundred candles in every window. Laughter f

h the wall. Not aro

n the hallway unseen, unheard. Her presence passed li

courtiers. Laughing. Drinking. Wearing the

a toast?" sh

om fell

asped. One man dropped his glass. The

he breathed.

She lifte

y age. Beautiful. But her

eral. I'm

r a sword. She

She didn't swing it like a woman. She wielded it like judg

d-but only

, and the symbols along it glowed

h him. It hovered there-visible only to he

with you yet,

soul to the thing