Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
A reclusive moon witch.
A cursed wolf shifter.
A spell gone horribly wrong.
After being trapped in her realm after a storm, fate pushes them together.
However, they’ll soon discover that magic isn’t the only thing dangerous...
desire is far more perilous.
And yes, there's only one bed.
The Witch's Fate is a complete standalone within the Lunaterra Chronicles World
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
IDALIS
Some say it’s dreadful, but I love my life.
My days in the meadow usually take on a similar shape. In the summertime, I rise early in the morning because the land rises early. The song of the birds is my wake-up call. That’s the best time of day to tend my garden beds. Weeding in the heat of the afternoon is asking to become ill from too much sun, even if you do have magic. The morning sun is much better.
When I’m finished, I might walk to the small pond at the edge of the forest closest to my house and bathe. Then I have a bite to eat and bake bread, and finish any work left from the day before. With a flick of my hand the pages turn, and I read a bit in the warmth of the sun. Though I’ve already read my small collection of books many times over, a new book every so often comes my way and I enjoy the studies as much as the adventures. New spells come to me, and I refine them as much as I can before I write them down for anyone else to see. My grimoire is full of scribbles, but the papers I submit are proper and complete. Although I substitute some concoctions so no one may reverse the much-needed remedies.
My magic is powerful and yet, so often, I feel at peace in the quiet and lonesome. I look forward to long days of a gentle breeze and a divine sunset.
It’s not quite summer yet, but it has been a warm spring, and I look forward to what is coming…no matter how unfortunate others claim my life to be. They know not of what a sanctuary it has become, they know only of why the powerful witch lives by herself and why no others join me.
There is almost no chill in the wind anymore as I go about my late spring routine, yearning for more warmth and the life it brings. Soon it will be high summer, with the crickets singing in the grasses of the field and late sunsets and those early, early mornings.
In the wintertime, I go to see if I’ve received any letters when the suns are highest. I don’t care for the cold much but thankfully the winter is the shortest of seasons where I reside. Now, in the spring, I wait until the warmest part of the day is fading into late afternoon before I cross the field to the box where letters manifest themselves. A courier from the closest village leaves mail for me in a faraway land. A spell I cast years ago allows the letters to find themselves here. They call me a recluse, but I consider myself careful. After what happened, I take no risks, and my life is all I’ve ever wanted…mostly.
The ground beneath my feet is warm as I cross the field barefoot. The tall grass tickles my ankles and my thin linen dress drags behind me. Surely it will be dirty at its hem from the travels, but I love the way it feels, the way the wind blows back the sheer material. It reminds me of other times when I danced with my sisters under the full moon. Sisters who are no more.
When I’m tending to the gardens, I wear a straw hat to hide from the rays, but I take it off and let it swing from my fingers on my walk. A simple flick and the hat twirls beside me following the path I gave it.
The box is at the edge where the field meets the trees. A crossroads was needed, and nature provided it for me only a mile or so from my cottage. It’s near the path that leads to the clearing but not across it. My house is visible from this part of the path, but only at a distance, and if you’re not looking, you probably won’t notice. No one ventures here though. Not for years. Not since my request to Chamberlain Colson. I’m grateful it was granted, but had it not been, I would have cast a shadow and hid there.
I turn my back on that small glimpse of my home, its thatched roof, wisteria growing up the side of the chimney, and light blue shutters accenting a dark blue door, and then approach the letter box. Even from a distance, the Canterbury bells and roses are visible, and if I focus and allow the noise to quiet beside me, I can vaguely scent the florals. Sweet and light and providing a decadence most do not know they should wish for.
The box itself is sturdy, made of thick planks and four logs with a door in the upper half wide enough to fit the rare parcel that might come and not much else. It took me weeks to build it, the magic was particular for such a long-distance physical manifestation. Still I cast protective spells whenever I think of it.