Chapter 1: The Girl No One Wanted
Elara was born under a sky the color of ash, the kind of gray that seemed to swallow the light whole. From the first moment she cried, the village whispered. "Imbecile. A mistake. Cursed." The words cut through the air, sharp and cold, lingering long after they were spoken. Her father, Darius, did not look at her with love. His face was hard, unforgiving, etched with disappointment before she had even opened her eyes. Her mother, Liora, reached out, but every attempt was blocked, her hands pushed away by the cruel insistence of a man who had never wanted a daughter.
The small house on the edge of the village shivered in the wind, its walls thin and cold. Broken shutters rattled against the window frames, and the smell of damp earth and decay clung to every corner. Outside, children ran and played in the dirt streets, their laughter echoing cruelly in Elara's ears. They passed her by, never slowing, never looking back. She was always left behind.
From her earliest memories, Elara felt the weight of being unwanted. Her father scowled at every sound she made, every attempt to speak, every tear that fell. Her mother tried to soothe her, but even Liora's gentle words were powerless against Darius's fury. The girl learned quickly: survival meant being invisible. Survival meant silence. Survival meant never hoping for kindness.
One morning, the wind carrying the scent of rain, a strange woman arrived at their door. Selvira. She was tall and thin, with eyes like sharpened glass and a smile that made Elara's stomach twist. Her cloak trailed behind her like a shadow that moved independently, as if alive.
"How much for the girl?" Selvira asked, her voice smooth, yet sharp enough to make the hair on Elara's arms stand on end.
Darius did not hesitate. "Ten," he said, without a flicker of thought or hesitation.
The witch tilted her head, studying Elara with unsettling intensity. "I will give six," she said finally, her words deliberate and final.
Before Elara could even react, her father's hand had shoved her forward, and she was being pulled from the home she had never felt safe in, sold like an object to the mysterious woman with eyes that promised nothing but fear.
Her mother reached out, her hand trembling. "Elara…" she whispered, but Darius shoved her back. "Stay," he commanded. "This is for the best."
Elara ran, stumbling over the uneven ground, her small hands clawing at the wagon that would carry her away. "Mother! Don't let them take me!" she screamed. Her cries were swallowed by the wind, unheard and unanswered. She looked back once, hoping for a rescue that never came. Only the witch remained, silent and observing, her gaze cold and calculating.
The wagon carried Elara into a forest that seemed to breathe shadows. Trees loomed overhead, their branches clawing at the sky, whispering secrets in the language of wind. The ride was long, and Elara's thoughts spun uncontrollably. She had been sold, abandoned, and thrust into a world she did not understand. Fear coiled in her chest like a living thing, and tears streaked down her pale cheeks.
When they arrived, the witch's house loomed like a fortress of darkness. Blackened wood and twisted stone formed walls that seemed to absorb light. No garden, no welcoming hearth—only cold, stone floors and shadows that moved as if they had minds of their own.
Elara was shown to a small room with a single cracked window. The floor was hard, unyielding, and the air smelled faintly of iron and smoke. She sank to her knees, clutching herself, and stared at the wall. Her body shook, but the tears refused to fall anymore. She had cried enough.
In the corner of the room stood a mirror, cracked and hanging crookedly on the wall. Elara approached it hesitantly. For the first time, she truly looked at herself. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks sallow, and her eyes were hollow with fear. The reflection staring back at her was someone she barely recognized—a girl she hated immediately.
"I hate this… I hate me," she whispered, her voice breaking. In a burst of rage and despair, she slammed her hands into the mirror, shattering the glass. Shards fell like silver rain to the floor.
Elara wanted to end it all, to escape the weight of life entirely, but even in her darkest moment, something deep within her held her back. Something whispered that she could not yet give up.
The next morning, Selvira appeared, her cloak trailing like shadows. "Get ready," she said. "It is time to learn magic."
Elara's stomach twisted. She did not want magic. She did not want power. She wanted freedom, to escape the nightmares that had begun the moment she was born. But the witch's voice brooked no argument, and she found herself following, step by trembling step, into the vast hall.
The hall was enormous, its ceilings arched high above the stone floor. Candles flickered along the walls, casting shifting shadows that made the room feel alive. Dozens of girls, all pale and frightened, stood in rows. Some whispered quietly, some trembled violently, some stared in hollow despair. Elara felt herself shrink into herself, wishing she could disappear.
Selvira's eyes scanned the hall. "Today," she said, her voice echoing, "you will understand the price of power."
A pile of stones sat in the center of the hall. "Lift these," she commanded. "Without touching them."
Elara's hands shook violently. Her heart raced so fast she thought it might explode. The first girl moved forward confidently, reaching for a stone. Slowly, it lifted, but then her hand began to blacken, veins standing out like dark threads beneath her skin. She screamed, clutching her arm, and collapsed. The hall filled with cries and gasps.
Elara closed her eyes, trying to block out the horror. Aria, sitting beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't look at them," she whispered. "Focus on yourself."
Elara nodded. Her hands lifted toward a small stone, her pulse pounding in her ears. I can do this… I must. But the stone did not move. Again. And again. Nothing.
Selia's cruel laugh cut through the tension. "Pathetic," she sneered. "You'll never lift one stone. Why are you even here?"
Elara's cheeks burned. She wanted to shrink away, to vanish. But then, she remembered the nights she had endured: the cold, the hunger, the cruelty of her father. I have survived worse. I will survive this.
She raised her hands again, focusing not on the stone, but on the determination inside her. She imagined it floating, imagined courage pushing against impossibility. The stone trembled. For a heartbeat, it hovered. Then it fell.
Selvira's sharp eyes studied her. "Interesting," the witch said. "Even without full power, you persist. Most would crumble."
Elara felt a tiny flicker of pride. I am not most.
Hours passed, trials came and went. Some girls succeeded, some failed. Elara observed, learned, and began to notice patterns: panic meant failure, calm focus meant at least a chance. By nightfall, she was exhausted, but a small spark of hope remained.
The girls were dismissed to their rooms. Elara curled on the hard floor, staring at the ceiling. The trials had not made her strong, but they had made her aware: she could endure. She could survive. And that, perhaps, was her first real power.
Outside, the wind whispered through the cracks in the walls, carrying the forest's secrets. Inside, Elara lay awake, thinking of tomorrow, thinking of the stones, thinking of the witch. Fear still lingered, but it was tempered by something stronger: the quiet, unyielding knowledge that she would face whatever came next.
For the first time in her life, Elara felt something like hope.
I am still here, she thought. And that… is enough.
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