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Wrath was indeed one deadly sin to bear. Though, alas, I merely sought revenge all the same.
But my three targets had already been sentenced to hang for the discovery of their outlawed practices and treason by my own remaining kin. And yet somehow, that very fact only caused me to feel especially worse than before. It pained me to acknowledge that they could not recognize my presence, could not see my face under my new unwanted mask, and could not hear my cries beyond the yowls which emitted from my mouth. (The village regarded my image as an omen bringing them poor fortune. Surely a fiend like me showing up at the witches' gravesite just had to be one of their Familiars.)
So, unknownst to Salem's colony, I was forced to watch them die out as well from afar one by one. Good Lord, how I wished that I could have given anything and everything to meet my parents once more in person, to know that they had forgiven me since I'd failed to defend my sister's life.
Really, a fragile life terminated by a harsh ending sounded like a genuine fantasy, compared to an eternal life such as mine when a natural passing from this world was perfectly and unconditionally out of reach.
And oh, did I try to touch the handle of Death's Door ever to no avail...
Many of my first few days—first few years, even—were spent calculating suicide missions. From plummeting from rugged cliffs to aggravating a hungry fox strolling nearby, I tested out all the possibilities. And as horrid as it may had seemed, I was plainly desperate to escape my curse. Although at the end of every day, life somehow still clung to me as if it was the Plague in disguise.
I finally decided to just accept what was, just was, for it was clear that the magic had the upper hand in this circumstance.
Therefore instead of wallowing through the forestlands, I put my long hours to more proper use. I became beneficial to the local naive families within reason. My curse was absolutely one tragedy too many. There was no need for further supernatural mishaps to occur—
I had rightfully claimed the Witch Cabin my territory and never once had I tolerated any sort of dimwitted or childish company to stray this way.
After a number of fanged hisses and clawing swipes of warning aimed at those who challenged my laws, the point was finally made clear: do not trespass here! Fresh rumors of my whereabouts began to cycle and alternate among the young people over and over. Every now and then my inner curiosity persuaded me to trail a crowd of wondering adolescents. I leapt branch to branch, using the leaves as my cloak so I could listen in on their imaginative gossip... Could I have been the Binx boy who disappeared without a single trace upon that fateful All Hallows night? Some assumed so, but none of them were quite valiant enough to venture all the way back to prove it. And after a while, rather ironically, my title ranged from a simple groundskeeper to an aggressive, rabid little beast who should have been kept away from innocent small children.
Loneliness became such a bitter friend, but I considered it an opportunity too. It granted me the privacy I desired to study my absent foes. Granted that my generation was brought up to be more aware of black magic, but in reality, all words of caution the town Elders had presented to us about real witches were essentially...narrow-minded and based on scattered oral myths carried from the older cities found across the seas. I in comparison, knew what was correct. I had gained generous amounts of time to slink throughout the Witch Cabin to gather other information kept in secret places, to examine their personal possessions, pawing at their journals, memorizing those incantations, until I literally converted myself into a living Sanderson Witch Encyclopedia.
But still in spite of everything, the seasons still came and the still seasons went without mercy. I actually lost total track of the date, the months. They all blended together in one massive hazy anonymous shape. The outside world continued to expand itself, the quantities of immigrants continued to increase, America grew larger, and the old-fashioned simple customs ultimately vanished behind the veil of what they called "modern technology."
And by now, my life started to feel incredibly hollow again. My anxious yearning had steadily distorted into absolute sorrow, triggering my small beating heart to pour out everything it'd been harboring in so tightly, up till I wasn't left with anything but indifference.
Honestly, there were days when I had felt more creature than human.
Then one day, the Witch Cabin was rediscovered. Again. Cleaned up and revived, it been altered into a tourist gallery that was open during the Harvest. I of course despised the idea. These petty mortals, I thought; no good would come from this! It caused me to become more determined as ever to control my post. And thanks to my phantomlike nature, being able to dash to and fro without getting caught, I succeeded in convincing the head supervisor who happened to be a mother, that the place was haunted by spooks and certainly was not suitable for the public.
Nevertheless upon this current All Hallow's Eve, things suddenly took a dramatic turn as it happened. The Black Flame Candle, sacred to all things dark, had been ignited at last, by yet another skeptical airhead.
What was more, exactly when the witch sisters were summoned...their magical force seemed to spread from all ends of the town in thick thriving waves. And in the midst of it all, I somehow had received my mortal sound again:
"Nice going, Max."
That was my first sarcastic comment I managed to let out in centuries.
And just when it seemed everything I worked for had been totally wasted—the heated sensation had lifted the very moment the young girl, called Dani, smiled in my direction.
She reminded me a great deal of my mistake, and I understood at this point these three curious souls were sent to me for a purpose. That in fact, this night could very well be the night when I could redeem myself from my history if I made certain Dani would survive to see the next sunrise.