The Face of the Wicked

the moonlight. Images of Dylan's face flickered through my mind, each one morphing into something new and unfamiliar

unting nightmares so vivid they blurred the line between reality and illusion. The lingering echo of his presence haunte

seemed to conceal a lurking threat, every creak of the floorboards a whispered promise of impending doom. It was as if his ghos

Outside, rain drummed against the windows in a relentless cadence, echoing the tumultuous tempest brewing within my restless soul. Each dropl

fathomable, something that threatened to consume me whole. In the darkness of the night, I felt utterly alone, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and fea

familiar surroundings of my childhood home. The attic was a treasure trove of memories, overflowing with long-forgotten photographs and cherished meme

eneath a layer of old linens. With trembling hands, I pulled it free, revealing a delicate necklace adorne

iking resemblance to the bracelet that had adorned my wrist for as long as I could remember, though weathered

the soft light. Could it be possible that this necklace, now before me, had once belonged to my mother? The mer

n old photograph tucked away in the corner of a dusty trunk. It depicted a young woman with

ver had the opportunity to meet any members of my mother's family. As far as I know, she didn't have any living relatives within

ace and photograph close to my chest. Feeling overwhelmed by emotions, I reached out to Sarah, yearn

opening the door to find my best friend standing there with a warm smile. "Hi! How are you doing, Kat?" she asked, stepping inside and envelopin

ow have you been?" I asked, eager to hear about Sarah's latest adventures. "Oh, you know, the usual work craziness," she sighed, running a hand through he

ce trembling slightly as tears threatened to spill over. The ache of my mother's absence weighed heavily on my heart, leavi

t that I so desperately needed in that moment. "I miss her too, Katharina," she whis

appreciate that," I said, of

d playful banter, momentarily escaping the weight of our respective burdens. Despite my initia

s warmth lingering in my heart, I spent the remainder of the day lost in the pages of a book, seeking solace i

ing the tension that had settled in my chest. "Hi, dad!" I responded, sinking further into the sofa that I was occ

er's gaze softened, concern etched into the lines of his face. "You did?" he asked gently, his eyes landing on the ne

gestured toward the intricate necklace lying before u

ice tinged with a hint of sadness. "It was passed down from generat

ds. I watched as he turned it over with a sense of reverence that mirrored my own. "Your mom

the pendant against my skin, a tangible connection to my mother that sent shivers down my spine. "It was her most

oice tinged with curiosity. My father joined me, his eyes scanning the image thoughtfully. "Yes, it was," he confirmed, his gaze lingering on the f

your mom was told, and she told me." His words hung in the air, sparking a flicker of intrigue within me. "Witches?" I echoed a hint of skepticism in m

lace, sweetheart," he added, his laughter carrying a sense of wisdom born from experience.

ht, sweetheart. Let's grab breakfast tomorrow morning," he suggested a gentle reminder of the simple joys we shared. "

ds about witches lingered in my mind, stirring up a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. "That's crazy," I mused quietly to myself