Page 1 of Petals of Innocence

One

Etaincheckedhersatchelone last time and sighed deeply. This is not what she wanted to be doing this evening. Grabbing her bag, she went to the front door of her two-room home and glanced up at the sky, hoping her calculations had been wrong. Another deep sigh escaped her as she watched the red creep across the full moon; it slowly became a blood moon in front of her eyes. Her calculations were, as usual, correct.

On one hand this was good. She needed to collect multiple potent herbs, plants, and fungi that were only harvestable under a blood moon, and when said moon rose in early fall, like now, their medicinal properties were at their strongest. On the other hand, the veil was the thinnest and that meant the magical folk were going to be out. She knew they would delight in her torment. She would need to be extra vigilant, looking for traps and the creatures that hide themselves in the shadows. Better yet, she herself would need to be a creature hiding in the shadows. She grabbed her long, dark green cloak hanging next to the door and draped it around herself. She hoped it would help her look like a shadow and help her survive the night unscathed.

As she began her trek to the edge of the woods, Etain knew herself to be a fool for going out alone on a night as dangerous as this one would undoubtedly be. She cursed herself for being idiotic enough to forage around in the woods. She was sure she would make noise and draw unwanted attention, although there was nothing to be done for it; she needed the medicinal ingredients. The people of Havenston had already been growing suspicious of her.

The new religion had shown up several years ago, bit by bit sinking its claws into the people of Havenston. In the last couple years it started making the townspeople fear witches, more precisely Etain. Never mind she grew up with a good portion of the townsfolk, and her mother delivered most of them when they made their way into the world. She herself helped Nessa deliver her third baby not even two nights ago. Nessa had once been a friend, and the two had played together for most of their early childhoods until Nessa started to look at Etain with fear and wariness in her eyes. It pained Etain to have been asked to leave their home immediately after the baby was born and had not been permitted to hold the sweet little girl she just helped usher into the world.

A long line of Walsh women cared for this town for as far back as the town existed. Where they were once celebrated, she was now a pariah and likely the last Walsh witch to exist. At two and twenty and still unwed, the prospect of children seemed out of the question, particularly when not a single man would come close enough to her. Well, she supposed that wasn’t entirely true- there was Seamus after all. He was sure he was sent by the God of Light to save her from her “devilish ways,” whatever that meant.

Seamus was attractive enough, she supposed. Tall and wide with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes that used to be filled with warmth, but now held brutal coldness instead. He inherited his father’s farm two years ago after his father fell off his horse; there was nothing Etain could do to save him. Shortly after that, Seamus began calling on her again, if that’s what you could even call it. He would show up at inappropriate times in the evenings to tell her how horrible she was. How she should fall to her knees and ask someone, him perhaps, for forgiveness of her wicked ways. It did not seem to matter how often she asked him to stop frequenting her door, he always came back. Lately, he had been getting bolder and attempting to shove the door and force his way in. His eyes had taken on a dangerous glint as well.

Etain and Seamus had grown up together. When they were children she thought they would wed and start a family some day. Seamus officially courted Etain for a few years before her mother’s death. Not even a few months into their courtship the Shepherd, the one who claimed to speak for the God of Light, began to dig his claws into Seamus’ mind. Little by little Seamus began to exude a wild fanaticism for the “one true God” and the Beings of Light. From what he’d told her of his religion, she was rather convinced the Shepherd was a liar and wove these tales of doom and gloom to give himself power over the townsfolk. To what end, Etain had yet to figure out.

The Shepherd was the harbinger of the new religion. He showed up swiftly one day, and not too long after that, the people of Havenston had begun to listen to his sermons about the Beings of Light and their God. He had worked quickly to win their hearts, though it wasn’t too hard for him considering he went house to house and made everyone’s gardens flourish. Since many were struggling to survive after the hard winter, it appeared to be an act of God. Etain was not impressed. It was obvious to her that he held some form of plant magic which made her even more cautious when it came to the Shepherd.

She scoffed at the amount of times she had tried to bring Seamus back to his old self, but it usually ended in a rather public argument that left him in a rage for several days. He always claimed it was entirely due to her refusal to obey him as well as the embarrassment she caused him publicly. During the last argument of their courtship, Seamus had declared they would be married the following week; he would make sure she would follow the words of the Shepherd so they could both ascend to join the Beings of Light. He did not take kindly to her bold and vehement denial of his proposal and his so-called “Beings of the Light” in front of the entire town. He had changed dramatically over those couple of years, going from a kind, stoic young man to the hard, angry man who had become increasingly violent. No, Seamus was not an option. Even a witch had to have standards.

Etain’s very public refusal of Seamus had not helped endear her to the people of Havenston, but the town still relied on her expertise to deliver their babies and fix their ailments, for now. In the few instances there was nothing she could do to prevent death, she noticed the whispers around her became just a little louder and the suspicions seemed to grow even further. It was almost as if they thought she herself had done something to bring along death, not the illness or injury that happened before she had even arrived to help.

She had never gone to listen to their Shepherd preach about their God and the “Beings of the Light,” but she heard some of the lies he had been spreading about witches. She even heard about some witches being burned two towns over. And for what? Man’s interpretations of a God? As if witches would ever harm another. It went against their very beliefs: uphold the balance the land demanded, and celebrate the gifts of nature the Great Mother gave to them. And who did these men think they were, trying to be the voice for a God? She thought it wildly presumptuous; she would never deign to speak for the Many Faced Goddess.

Instead of reminding the town to be wary of the wild places on nights like tonight, the Shepherd had been attempting to turn neighbor against neighbor and weaken the community by sowing distrust and jealousy. But what good would that do for any of them? They relied on each other to stay safe and healthy.

The townsfolk wanted her to leave, she knew that much, but where was she supposed to go? It was not as if she could fold up her home and take it with her. Besides, her constant state of exhaustion was sign enough they still needed her even if they didn’t want her. For now she knew she was safe, but it was uncertain for how long she would remain that way. She desperately missed the feeling of belonging.

Nearly two years ago her mother passed away. While she had been lying on her deathbed she told Etain to ready herself, for in her lifetime Havenston would become unsafe for her.

“Where would I go mother?” Etain had asked. Her mother looked at her hard for a moment, and Etain thought that was going to be her only answer. Her mother often used silence as an answer as if telling Etain to use her brain like the intelligent witch she had raised. Finally, her mother spoke and said something completely unexpected.

“When the town feels like it has reached its tipping point, seek shelter with the fae. It will be a different and equally dangerous life, but at least there you will have access to your full power and magic, and not the nothing we have on this side of the veil.”

Etain looked at her mother as if she had lost her mind. “The fae? Mother, you can not be serious! You have taught me my whole life to avoid the fae at all costs. I will be eaten alive there!”

This time when she pointedly looked at Etain, silence was her answer. It was the last time they were able to talk about the future and how Etain was to survive it. Her mother slipped away quickly after, and with her went Etain’s sense of security and belonging. Etain spent many nights lying awake considering her mother’s words. Had her mother really thought the mortal realm would pose such a high risk to Etain that she would need to cross the veil and learn a whole new way of life? The idea of having actual magic in the Fae Realm filled Etain with a ball of nervous energy that fluttered fiercely in her stomach.

She was more than curious about the power she read about in the family grimoire, a book passed down generation after generation that detailed the lives of the witches that came before her. The earliest entries contained spells and recipes that required the use of magic; nothing Etain could even comprehend.

It also held the stories of long ago wars in the Fae Realm, such as her ancestors using their full magnitude of power to aid whatever side they had been aligned with. At the time, using it to keep the balance the realm depended on for survival. It was like something out of a fairytale. She believed all of it though, for the book itself was magical. No matter how many entries were made, the book only grew and never ran out of fresh pages. That alone was proof enough to Etain.

Standing at the edge of the dark forest she could feel the magic bleeding from the veil. It felt raw and primal with an unnatural stillness that had the little hairs on her body rising. Yes, she knew better, but she also knew she needed to ingratiate herself with the townsfolk for a little while longer until she figured out how to survive the upcoming societal shift. She was attempting to be seen as an apothecary instead of a witch. Plant medicine seemed to also be from their God, so maybe they would not get ideas of mounting her to a stake anytime soon. Unfortunately, the simple fact she was a woman who didn’t follow the popular religion, and who was running a business, appeared to be just as bad as being a witch.

Running to the otherside of the veil would be a last ditch effort no matter how tempting her magic might be. She was not sure what she feared more, the townspeople she knew well or the fae she had only ever read about. She felt as though she were stuck between two impossible choices and almost wished fate would intervene and choose for her. She let one final exacerbated sigh out before she pulled her cloak’s hood over her dark auburn hair and entered the woods.

She wished now more than ever that she held the power her ancestors once had, but the only thing she could do was send up a prayer to the Many Faced Goddess and ask her for protection.

Two

TheWoodedVeilTavernin Ebonmere was louder than usual, filled with wicked glee for the upcoming hunt. The veil thinned only near this one particular village in his court and only during the Blood Moon once per year. They did not have the pleasure of hunting across the veil without the prospect of running into one of the Day Court’s pompous pricks, but this one wickedly wonderful time of year. Typically the veil thinned in the Borderlands making it fair game for all in the realm. And when the Human Realm had its longest day of full sun, the veil thinned in the Day Court making it the one time the Night Court could not cross. He assumed this was to ensure a balance of some kind.

This was promising to be a much needed and enjoyable night for Ciaran. He was still in a foul mood from yesternight’s council meeting. Royad, one of Ciaran’s council members, was beginning to gain support from other council members in his quest to wed Ciaran to his daughter, Leona. Royad was using the current conflicts with the Day Court to pressure him into marriage which would strengthen the Night Court and allow Ciaran to ascend the throne as king. Little did they know, unless Ciaran found a way to break the curse he inherited, it would not strengthen the Night Court at all. He was unable to speak of his curse to any other soul besides Kes for some reason. Whenever he tried to discuss it with anyone else, his mouth would simply not open.

Leona was vicious enough for sure, and Ciaran supposed she was beautiful in that dangerous kind of way many in the Night Court coveted, but she didn’t fulfill the requirements of the ridiculous prophecy; the prophecy that would apparently lead him to end this curse. The Many Faced Goddess refused to tell him outright exactly how to break the curse, instead giving him a prophecy to fulfill in order to become the true King of the Night Court. Like a curse wasn’t enough to deal with. This pissed him off to no end; he found the shifting woman to be incredibly difficult.

The council likely thought him mad, and not in a good way, because to them there was no reason Ciaran wouldn’t be doing everything possible to take the throne. If only they knew how hard he had been trying for hundreds of years to find a way to break the stupid fucking curse. He wasn’t sure how long the curse had been plaguing his ancestors or even why they had been cursed in the first place. He held no doubts members of his council were making moves behind his back, thinking him unfit to rule. He was only waiting for them to show their hands first.

The Night Court had been without a true king or queen for multiple generations, and it was beginning to take its toll by weakening the Night Court as a whole. It had been going on so long he was sure the members of his court had forgotten what it was to have a true king. If only he could tell the council of this stupid fucking prophecy and this equally stupid fucking curse plaguing him, but he was bound by powerful magic from that many-faced bitch to never be able to speak of it. The only other soul who knew of it was Kes, and that was only because he had been there. He had sat right next to Ciaran when she burdened him with the damn riddle of a prophecy.

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