#bored witch

Jasmine leaned her head against the back of the chair and let her cigarette burn down, her hands so still the paper turned to ash and didn’t fall. Outside the window, the storm beat against her house, each flash of lightning turning the dark shapes of the elms into a livid flurry of bruised leaves.

Everything was prepared, and the smell of the blood sigil soaking into her floor still stung the back of her throat, mixed with the tobacco smoke. There was a time when her sisters and she would have felt the thrill of that scent into their bones. Now it was only her, alone in the old house, and the Whispers from the Other Side too familiar to be enchanting—just the creek on and old stair, anymore.

In an hour, the woman and her husband would knock on the door, asking for shelter from the rain. Jasmine reminded herself to turn the porch light on in advance. She reminded herself to light the sacred fire before then, too.

The glowing ring eased down the length of the cigarette, almost burning itself out.

Inktober 7: It’s a bored witch. 

She’s conjuring a bird because she’s bored.

Bored.

The television is on while the bored witch is taking a nap

Again, drawings from The triplets