Magic runs strong in me, but power isn’t enough.
Magic confers an unnatural beauty on everyone with talent. Everyone except me, that is. I’m a witch, to be sure. No doubt about my birthright. When I was young, Mother hid me away until I was old enough to hold a glamour to conceal my flaws.
And hold it I did for many a long year until I grew sick of siphoning off that amount of magic on something stupid. I was a valued Coven member. Surely, they’d accept me. And my wolfie familiar. All witches have them, except most are cats or birds. Something small, manageable.
Eh. Getting off track here. The unpleasant truth was the moment I sloughed my glamour, the council held an emergency meeting. The next day, I was out on the streets. They booted wolfie along with me.
No more home. No more sisterhood. Hah. What a joke all those of years of bonhomie turned out to be. If I sound bitter, darned right I am. Bitter and moving forward.
I’ll show them if it’s the last thing I do.
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.