#wel

The witch scoffed in disgust, having reached the end of a letter found buried below countless trinkets. They were once brought along for the longest journey of her life. Among the gloomy, candlelit chambers of the ancient Matron's mansion they were the last, untainted remnants of home. Of lost faith and past bright hopes.

Home.

She strained to remember when was the last time she used this word. It was always bound to appear in a vibrant company of overwhelming sorrow and guilt mixed with a painfully fresh smell of salty breeze.

“Home.”

She said it out loud this time to confirm that - to her surprise - it no longer caused the familiar heartache that ought to be impossible to bear. Almost like the word itself has been hollowed out across the years of mourning. Distant sea for once remained still. Delicate glistering of the gentlest waves much like the calm light which now danced across the decorative ink and its parchment - held right above the fireplace and slowly lowered ever so slightly towards the flames as if threatening them to speak up and reveal more than just the written words they carried. Flames danced in unison. At times like this occasional sparks from the firewood sounded more akin to creaking of wooden masts on the open sea. Silence foreshadowing the storm that this time wasn’t meant to appear as she muttered the word.

Home.

Ambience among the waves and sand, peaceful whispers of the moon and harmonies of the fellow priestesses. Not a single memory was lost of that place. Not even the harrowing sight of all deep shades of red covering the coastal sanctuary’s floors. Every drop of the fallen god’s blood like a new wave crashing against all the beliefs she was brought up to diligently follow. The high priestess who was chosen to witness the fall of her own deity. Suddenly, soothing were the nightmares of sacred lands, washed by the raging ocean in search of lifeless remains of its one true ruler - forever to embrace Their wrinkled old body in abyssal depths. The witch has finally seen real serenity and peace in the eye of the hellish storm raised by mortals overstepping the depth’s laws.

May wind always mock the sinners’ tattered sails.

No longer did she flinch to the memory of the killer's gaze set right on her - after all, it was taking Their skeletal hand that led her onto this path.

Like a ritual sacrifice, another writhing letter met no more merciful fate than its predecessors now filling up the ash tray below.

The pain. The loss. The yearning.

Flames have cleansed them both. Painful melancholy from a lifetime away.

Private spectacle suddenly stopped by a knock on the door.

“Priestess, the subject—!”

“Woke up?” The cold tone of the usually cheerful silhouette by the fireplace clearly suggested an important matter has just been interrupted.

“He tried to escape!” The researcher huffed heavily after making the long way from laboratories to living quarters in such a hurry. “He wants to see the Master! He's talking about reverting the experiment! He wants to leave!”

“That’d be rather silly of him.” Looking at the messenger she could tell the severity of the situation. Finally, another fortunate lamb to cure. With her chin audaciously raised she walked up to the servant. “Looks like I’ll have to wear my most trustworthy of smiles.”

“May we forever entrust ourselves to the tides to wash up on blessed shores. Never to drown in their embrace. Never to doubt the lov—” Clumsy words written with her childish own hand ages ago disappeared as the letter shrunk among the flames and ashes, not to ever reach the saintly recipient.

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