Page 68 of Disenchanted

He has fled. He has left me, Maggie. Oh, how the darkness of this ink berates me! The permanence of its shadow on the paper feels an extra cruelty, as though it is something that I can never change.

But it has to change. I would do anything to ensure it. I would give up all of this beauty and marvel and magic if it meant that he returned to me. He will return. He has to return. He must return, for I know not how I can go on without his hand in mine. I must tell myself again and again that there is a good and simple reason for his departure. You and I both know how Mama is forever reminding me that a positive spirit can fool even yourself.

Perhaps he is seeking advice from a kind soul who will understand this sort of shock and teach him how best to approach such a wayward woman as he has been cursed to fall for. Or maybe he is simply seeking the quiet of solitude to best understand his own opinion first on all of this madness. It must have been quite the revelation for him. I left so much at his feet, and he deserves his time to agonize.

I keep faith that he will come back for me. I must be patient and true above all else.

I know not how to be without him anymore. There is nothing I would not do.

Your dear friend,

Lily

Wednesday 25 October

M,

Five days have passed, and still there is no knock. I have thought I heard it several times, rushed from my bed still in my nightgown to throw the door open, but I only find the moon. I think it is my heartbeat that I hear, banging and rattling in a treacherous, empty torment. Tell me what to do, Maggie. You were always so clever. What do I do?

I do not sleep for fear of missing his return. I do not eat, for everything might as well be ash. I cannot face the world and how it continues to spin as though it should not have stopped entirely without our love to keep it turning.

Once did I venture to the market for supplies—not that I had wanted to consume them, but simply in the hope that I might spot the top of his hat. Recognize the tread of his boots, be able to run to him and fix it all if he saw my face before him.

But all I heard were whispers, Maggie. Not only has he gone for good and left me in a life that he will never return to, but I fear he has told others of my secret. How could I be so stupid as to celebrate something so shameful? How could I think that goodness and light such as him could ever be compatible with this dark magic?

Not that it matters anymore. Let them feed me to the wolves for all I care.

What do I do, Maggie?

L

Sunday 29 October

This magic. This treacherous, abhorrent, wild magic. It has ruined everything. No good can ever come of it, of that I am most certain! It renders me more and more alone by the day. If my soul were a red rose, it would be rotted in the ground that it grows from, petals all lost, no more beauty to linger, nothing but fodder to the creatures.

There is no one. I have nothing, aside from a heart that whines a pitiful mew of a beat and a palm full of power that disgusts me to my core.

Maggie, I hope that either it dies or I should die before it and send it back beneath to the worms, where it belongs. No good shall ever come of magic.

While magic beats within a heart, it seems that love may not. They repel one another; I see that now. It is how the story of a witch must be written. What a fool I was to think it otherwise!

Still, I must find him. A love as beautiful as ours cannot possibly end in such tragedy. I know you will wish otherwise for me, but there will be no persuading it. Besides, it is too late. I have drained the magic from my palms, banished it from my soul.

Perhaps now he will consider me again.

A boat departs at dawn tomorrow, Maggie, and the few belongings I require to survive are packed into the pockets of my coat. Take what you wish but burn the rest. Everything else—my favourite cloak, my precious jewels, my pretty things that were once so important and full of silly hope—can perish.

Along with this whole town. A curse upon it.

Monday 30 October

My true friend,

You were always too kind to me, always too understanding and forgiving of this darkness, this blight that spreads inside me. You are a rare treasure, Magnolia. I only wish that the rest of the world could stand up to the measure of your goodness. I see now that perhaps you were an unfair example as a friend, one I could never have hoped to follow in the footsteps of with this cursed heart of mine.

There must be some good to come from this agony! There has to be; otherwise it is too cruel to comprehend. But perhaps I can save the next poor soul who comes along.

So, when next a witch of real magic should find herself treading these cobbled streets, I call a curse upon her. A curse upon them all, in fact—every member of this forsaken, hollow town of treachery and judgement.