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Gothel, Hazel, and Primrose stood at the boundary of the dead woods. They rarely came that close to the thicket. They could see the villages in the distance and couldn’t help wondering what the people in those villages thought of the dreaded witches of the dead woods.
“Are you sure about this, Gothel?” asked Primrose.
“I am. Look.” Gothel had one of her mother’s books in her hand. It was open to the page that showed the spell to open a portal through the rosebush thicket. “We saw her do it, Prim. She squeezed her hand just like it’s illustrated here in the book. Look! Like this!”
“I see it, Gothel! But what am I supposed to do?”
“Concentrate! Think about what you’re trying to accomplish. Envision the red glowing ball that will open the thicket.”
“I don’t know, Gothel.”
“Prim, please! Do you want to get out of here? Do you want to see the world? We talked about this! I want you to make this place beautiful, make it a place you would want to stay in forever. We’ve lived in this dreary mansion our entire lives. It’s like a dead place. It’s not a home. Mother never made it beautiful, she was always so focused on her magic. I want you to bring it to life, Prim! I want you to decorate it with color. I want you to love it.”
Primrose laughed. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
Hazel smiled at both of her sisters. “Gothel wants us to stay because she loves us, Prim. She wants to keep our vow. Sisters together forever. And she wants to make a beautiful home for us. And the only way to do that is to get through that thicket.”
“It’s true, Prim! I really do!”
“I know you do. I can tell. It’s just…”
“What?”
“You seem like your old self again. Like the Gothel I love. That’s all.” Primrose took a breath. “Okay, let’s try to do this spell.” She looked again at the book Gothel was holding. “So, is this right?” She was holding her hand the way it was illustrated in their mother’s spell book.
“Yes. That’s right. Now just think about creating a red ball that you can use to open the thicket.”
“Okay,” said Primrose, not convinced it would work. She reached out her hand and closed it on something invisible. “Oh! I can feel something! I can feel something small, but I can’t see it! Can you see it?”
“That’s amazing, Prim! You can feel the ball in your hand?” asked Gothel, feeling giddy.
“I can!” said Primrose, laughing, excited that the spell was working.
“Visualize the ball, Prim! Make it solid!” Gothel said.
A tiny ball of light appeared in Primrose’s hand. It was wispy and silver, almost like smoke.
“Ah! Look! I made something! Should I throw it? Should I throw it?” asked Primrose, afraid to hold it in her hand too long.
“No! Imagine it larger, make it red,” urged Gothel.
Primrose screwed up her face. Her cheeks were flushed and splotchy from straining so hard. “I can’t! It won’t turn red.”
“Concentrate, Prim!” said Gothel. “Concentrate!”
“Ow!” Prim flicked her hand the way her mother had the night she opened the thicket. It sent the wispy silver ball into the rosebush thicket, where it dispersed the moment it made impact.
“Prim!”
“I’m sorry! I tried. I really did, but it started to burn my hand.”
“That’s okay, we can try again,” said Gothel, determined to make the spell work.
“Let’s try later, Gothel. Prim is tired.”
Gothel sighed. “I’m happy you tried, Prim. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out how to get out of here. I promise. Let’s have some breakfast.” The sisters walked the long path of dead weeping willows, passing the ruined conservatory as they made their way to their mansion on the hill. “I was thinking. Maybe we should do something with Mother’s ashes.”
