The sound of a curtain being drawn and then the fresh rays of morning sun flooded the room. Tucked nicely inside a satin bed cover, it felt comfy.

  "Wake up, darling."

  Eyelids slowly fluttered open. An amorphous, tall, feminine figure hovered beside, gazing intently.

  The vision sharpened as mom gave gentle strokes along the cheek, caressing softly. That touch may feel maternal because she looked different, albeit still being mom. Perhaps it was the dearth of makeup in the morning.

  In between sifting fingers, her ebony dark hair shined brightly, reflecting shades glistening in the morning sunlight. Her hair, though silken soft, seemed different. Their ends angled roughly rather than precisely brushed. It had taken time, until she climbed closer on the king-size bed. Then, everything seemed clear.

  Morgane wore flimsy, thigh-length negligee, accentuating her curvy, shapely frame, slightly enhanced cy hems, noticeably plunging neckline, and somewhat generously revealed skin of her thighs. It felt wrong. All kinds. Inappropriate. Totally uncalled.

  Mom then sat, poised, one arm draped upon her thigh, tilting her hips. Her coral lips parted before pcing a deliberately long. lingering kiss on the forehead.

  That image --glossy lips, shiny pearly white teeth, gleaming bright hazel brown eyes-- tched onto memory, unlocking something. Mom seemed bigger, but only by a small measure. Then, her naked palm rose, fingers weaved through rich mahogany, red curls.

  Even mom's palms felt slightly rger than the previous evening. Ever since st night, Morgane exuded an aura -- stronger, powerful, mature.

  Full consciousness went into overdrive, as though the kiss of Mom gave back something. A sudden realisation, it surged within, and a tingling sensation spread through the body -- of naked skin touching satin sheets. No sign of the tuxedo or shirt or the expensive bck pants beneath. Just naked, under the sheets, on Mom's bed, in her room.

  Hands filed helplessly and felt the warmth on the vacant spot beside. Warmth of someone having slept beside. Mom's warmth still lingered there. It was all wrong. Inappropriate, as in boundaries crossed.

  Mom shifted her palms, grabbing hold gently, brushing rich curls off forehead.

  "Ruby. Oh, darling. I am gd you are finally awake." She gave soft more kisses. Her hands inched lower, deliberately touching everywhere, temples to cheek till the curve of the neck, bringing skin against skin.

  Mom lifted the bnket and very precisely shimmied in. Her palms were pced on either side, and Mom towered over, her face close enough to smell peppermint in her breathing and morning rose oil extract on her skin.

  "M-mom?" The voice came out surprisingly feminine, melodious, and pleading.

  "Shhh...." She pced a lone finger on the lips, stopping any further protest. The finger traced a slow, excruciatingly slow and deliberate path along the curve of the lips. "Let me look at your beautiful face. So lovely. Darling, you can't imagine. How beautiful you are. And I can't believe. You are absolutely gorgeous."

  That set arm bells ringing. Everything seemed strange. Not due to waking up covered only in satin sheets, and naked on mom's bed, while Mom, in her outrageously scandalous lingerie, straddled on top. Not because Mom may have chosen that outfit deliberately or slept beside while sharing a single sheet.

  It was her voice.

  One should know their mother's voice.

  What sounded strange is because it changed. Or rather, it adapted. Like nothing ever heard, since the first cry. Softer, velvety, refined, somewhat stronger, noticeably comforting. Like cooing for the first time to a newborn.

  But definitely, Mother's voice never sounded this caring. At times, Mom may purposefully slip the tone between when needed. Like civility, because it came naturally when she had to pretend in front of social guests or other parents.

  This tone seemed sincere.

  "Mom, can you stop teasing me?" The words came out melodiously soprano.

  Morgane pursed her lips, but even that trepidatious concern barely managed to conceal the brightness lurking on her face.

  "Ruby, it may come as a surprise, since I may not sound convincing because people may never believe me, but I am your mom." Her lips thinned, pressing hard upon each word, bringing attention towards coral-coloured glossy lips, lightly shimmering with the morning sun's golden rays. Mom leaned closer, eyes peering down as though seeking validation. Acceptance.

  Mom never did that. She never flinched. All acts done deliberately slow, calcuted and with a fir. Just the previous evening, Morgane crashed an uninvited wedding and walked away but not before proposing a lesbian booty call to the bride.

  "Ruby, this is real." She gathered the sheets, covering them in a deft move, like she pnned them in advance. All deliberate actions. Everything. And tossed them aside, revealing the naked feminine body beneath.

  A sharp hiss escaped as the cold pierced the exposed skin like hundred tiny icicles.

  Morgane pressed herself tightly, holding both her arms to wrap around, till it felt as though it may bruise. Or likely mom held rough because she always possessed greater strength but never revealed.

  "I am sorry." Mom whispered softly, pulling closer. "I forgot, girls' bodies are more sensitive to the cold." Whole body shivered. A heartbeat ter, mom rubbed along the shoulders. That came out wrong because their shared proximity resembled everything highly inappropriate. Even scandalous. Like wearing intimate clothing designed as only suitable while staying within four walls.

  One may ignore it. Because Morgane dressed scandalously in her own Vil. Like barely clothed, slinky, practically transparent negligee. Probably, because she can never keep her bance. Morgane loved risky. Mom loved unpredictable, and st night concluded that Mom achieved both.

  Lifting up, but still unwilling to leave the shared contact, Mom continued.

  "Ruby. That is the name I would have given you if you were born this way. I mean wait." Mom heaved deeply. Her arms maintained their close hold, but the tight embrace loosened. "First, are you hungry? Here."

  Mom rose, one single motion. She sat beside, but one arm still protectively draped over the shoulder, while she extended her other hand, and pulled a small serving cart.

  On it rested a fresh, steamy breakfast. On one side, two beautifully decorated cups, and a small silver kettle wafting the heavy aroma of herbal tea. A small tray held cinnamon rolls, which smelled freshly baked, while beside rested a fruit compote bowl of garnished berries, mixed with some slices of kiwi and melon. On the farthest end of the cart stood a rge bowl of blueberry fvoured frozen yogurt. And in between the fruit bowl and yogurt, resided mouth-watering lemon-raspberry muffins.

  Then, mom reached beneath and tossed a folded piece of clothing.

  "Here." She opened the piece of garment, letting the rich red fabric of kimono, with all its silky lustre, and peach petal and golden koi motif, fall on the naked p. "I think the colour suits your name, red Ruby. Let me help you change. Something nice when you have breakfast."

  Mom's smile was golden in the morning sunlight. Glistening, honest, and radiating. And Morgane's bright smile never belonged there because her smiles always came hidden beneath yer upon yer of cunningness, shallow indifference, satire and conceit.

  Only a troubled wince responded to mom's soft caress, her lips brushing along the temples, giving affectionate pecks, before tucking both arms in the kimono. She adjusted the pels, and contented, she tied the ribbon around the waist, firmly fastening it all.

  Not a proper traditional kimono but the sort sold to be used as a fancy bathrobe for expensive households, the kind that sat above the knees, but Mom carried a very satisfied expression that spoke volumes.

  That did little to abate the squirming, since Mom never initiated contact of that sort. Morgane may purposefully prop her palm, y it above the shoulder, lingering only briefly, or even catch the cheek, and let the contact simmer for a while. But all done with meticulous pnning. Her hugs were always deliberate and carefully given, and it usually happened when she required cooperation. Still, this gesture felt raw, powerful and more importantly, open.

  Mom twisted her head, this way and that way. Only when she felt like she had achieved perfection, she leaned closer and softly pressed words. "Come darling. Breakfast first. Transformation spells of this sort take away all, leaving the involved drained. You need to replenish."

  While mom, filled the tea and started stacking the ptes, other thoughts circled in a chaotic maelstrom.

  Options were considered and discarded. Like calling Dad would be the first. Marcel would come. Definitely. But considering the previous night, and what it meant for Dad and Selina, the guilt cannot be overridden. There was the credit card, a contingency pn from Dad, that is, if Mom did not magically shredd it. The Enders might open their doors, but that meant enduring the taunts from the twins. Aunt Tasha would protect. She always did. Might even send the twins on a time-out. Relieve them of their gaming privileges. Confiscate game controllers and limit PC usage. Eventually, decided against the Enders.

  "Chamomile tea, darling." Mom nudged closer and pressed a filled teacup against lips, whispering softly, her voice thickly den with honey, teeming raw emotion she seemed incapable of before. "Ruby, the taste may not be to your liking at first, but finish it." Mom coaxed to take more sips. "Chamomile extract is essential for your new body."

  "Because of magic?"

  "Darling." Mom scooted closer and threw her head in a soft chuckle, like the peal of small wind chimes on an early spring morning. "Every girl's body is kind of magical."

  Except mine. It's literally magical.

  A few more mom-coaxed sips ter, Morgane scrutinised the empty cup and deemed it agreeable. She, next, brought the pte with cinnamon rolls and muffins. Her smile carried more sweetness than the tray.

  Way back, but not a long way back, not even like two weeks ago, Dad served breakfasts too. Dad's breakfasts were wholesome and filling. Scrambled eggs, or omelettes with bacon, or sausages of varied variety, the source animal, which neither of them bothered to know. But they tasted good, because dad sat beside, and they gobbled their way through to see who would finish first.

  Dad's simple and efficiently prepared breakfast paired perfectly to complement the day's first meal.

  Not whatever, this eborate ritual mom involved in, with small and filigreed cups, and ceremonial stacks of small foods, all in neat, small, packed containers and bowls. Mom even had separate bowls for fruits. Worse, they all came with their own tongs, like cake tongs, and, pasta tongs and fish bone tongs. Mom's vanity even invaded her breakfast. Even the only piece of meat, strips of bacon, came meticulously wrapped around dried plums and were probably marinated or sauteed in honey.

  Dad used to say, bacon for breakfast would put hair on the chest. Not anymore. Mom ruined everything. She simply waved and gave a pair of tits now.

  "Try it." Mom leaned closer, insistently pressing cinnamon rolls against mouth. "Ruby, darling, part your lips. Just a small bite."

  Eventually, Mom wore an accomplished smile as the st bit of the cinnamon roll disappeared from her grasp. She brought her powdery sugar crusted fingertips to her lips, and those coral lips parted, and a hot pink tongue licked the remaining sweetness from her fingertips.

  "What?" Mom gave a look of feigned surprise. "Darling, you are my daughter. We are family after all." Then, her lips made that suggestive smile. "Or were you perhaps hoping to lick them off yourself?"

  Morgane scooped frozen yogurt in two bowls, and passed one.

  "Ruby? Sweetie?" Mom's tone lowered to an unexpectedly soft value. "Say something. You have some questions, right? Anger to vent? Anything?"

  Frozen yogurt tasted icy sweet, just creamy and perfect.

  Mom shifted closer, almost too close, then she pressed against. She raised one free hand, and pushed a bouncing curl behind the shoulders, revealing the pretty oval face.

  "You are extremely beautiful, in case you are wondering." Her voice lilted soft, both complimenting and velvet smooth. Her words caressed the eardrums, warming them pleasantly. "Just enchantingly pretty."

  Mom withdrew her hands, but brought her palms down. Her fingers curled softly, bringing Ruby's fingers interlocked with them. "Darling, you must have some emotions running through you in this situation. Just say it."

  Three more spoonfuls of frozen yogurt disappeared as Mom watched.

  Morgane scooped garnished berries using frosted dessert spoon, while her lips carried a stern, chastising smile. Mom, the old mom, she who had a perpetual scowl marring her face, with an eternally carved expression that would only fit either in a convent or a coven, was back. All that diabetic-inducing saccharine saturated sweetness, gone. Simply banished. No trace.

  "You know, normal guys, when they had their mojo robbed by magical means, would not simply sit in a feminine kimono with their mother, and relish the taste of frozen yogurt." Mom began, in her typical tone, fully accentuated with precise and timely raised brows, and her tongue consummately produced cerating words. "Normal guys may scream, throw tantrums, give threats, or raise mayhem. Or fuck, some might even want to run to grab the nearest mirror and look at them naked."

  "Because I am not fucking normal." The expected snap came, in an unexpected manner. Fists pounded on the serving cart, toppling all those finely stacked silver ptes and ornate cups and special tongs and whatever that mom surrounded herself with to make her meaningless morning seem important. "I am not. Normal guys do stand and watch the girl they had a crush on from childhood get married to their father. Normal blokes do not stand there watching with a smile, hiding the pain pstered on the face while she walks to the altar, into dad's waiting hands. And no, your version of normal guys does not cheer raising a gss when she kisses their father. Or when she openly tags them in her posts as son. No, I am by no means fucking normal."

  "I wondered how long it would take before you would confess that. That wasn't hard, was it?" Mom raised her hands. Her eyebrows rose impossibly high; only they rose higher because her eyelids slowly descended, masking all emotions, while her lips carried mere hints of convoluted smiles. "In fact, it seemed exactly seventeen minutes."

  Seventeen minutes. One thing could be said of Morgane and her irrepceable talent --to simply read people--, especially one she shared bloodline since conception. And worse, she can wield it subtly, causing major impact, all the while putting minimal effort. All for her own amusement.

  "I was probably thirteen or fourteen, when I wished Selina would stay a little longer." The confession came. No point in hiding behind an obfuscated facade anymore. "And two years ter, I knew what those feelings I felt for Selina were. Maybe in a few years, with graduation and a financial stability of a job, I pnned to ask her to be my girlfriend. But then, she just cornered dad. Forced out those feelings from him."

  Morgane dismissed all emotions behind her trademark disdainful snort, meant only to serve a mocking purpose. "You were thirteen then." Her lips puckered sourly. "Whatever you felt then, it is an adolescent infatuation." Those st two words dripped off her with venomous potency.

  "But...Mom...How did you already know?"

  Mom leaned closer, close enough; her lips hovered above ears. "Darling, your mother can sense when someone is lying because she lies better than anyone else." Her soft caress slowly shifted, moving through shoulders, wrapping arms possessively around. "When it comes to the art of deception, you are rather insufferable innocent."

  Mom took a bite of the lemon-raspberry muffin, her coral lips parting leisurely. For Mom, the girl in her bedroom, sitting in bathroom-variety kimono with nothing underneath, just posed another interesting scenario to indulge.

  "Was it the way I looked at Selina. At stepmom, that gave it away?"

  Morgane took another bite of her muffin with nguid lethargy. Then, the smirk, that all-knowing smirk of something she knew but would not willingly give it away, manifested on her face.

  "Fucking answer me?" The snap, like the strike of a lightning -- decisive, unpredictable and in a fsh, came. "Was it the way I looked at Selina while she danced and moved in her pearly white wedding dress in yered satin and silk, with her strapless bra, and that fine thin veil with pearls and her pristine clean second skin like satin gloves? Did it give it away when I watched how the fabric clenched her waist and still fell in waves around her waist when she twisted and turned? Or was it the manner in which I averted her gaze to only concentrate on her faux-diamond studded heels?"

  Morgane finished the st piece of muffin with an extravagant effort; her hot pink tongue flicked out between coral lips to lick the crumbs from the corner of her lips. Mom shifted closer and pressed one palm on the naked thigh, slowly weaving beneath the hem of the kimono. "Honestly, darling, I am your mother. Mothers know."

  Mom trailed her fingers along the belly, tantalisingly slow, leaving a ticklish warmth behind. Her fingers slipped in. "Do you know my favourite type of girl?" Her lips glistened, voice flowing like warm syrup, and her fingertips slithering over the pert nips like dark velvet. Her deft fingers with their ministrations elicited a moan. And another followed. "Are you sore there? Ruby? Darling? Are you?"

  Another suppressed moan escaped.

  "Good. I take it they are not sore. Because if they are, you need to tell me, darling." Mom withdrew her fingers with a satisfied smile. "There is so much I need to teach you. Marcel wouldn't have had the sense to impart this knowledge on you."

  Morgane gave small a chuckle and then trained her features back. That did very little to form an impression.

  Mom's voice whispered, enticingly soft, sweet honey dripping through words. She even reached and pulled the hem of the kimono, and covered the exposed skin. "Now back to the question of my favourite type of girl, definitely not the one on her bitchy, moody days. Can't stand that. That's why I never married a woman."

  Her gaze, sharp and with an undeniable glint in them, raked through the body. That brought a strange awareness of being naked beneath the kimono. Not even an inner wear or a slip. Nothing. All private bits exposed to the fresh air.

  Seemingly satisfied, Mom continued. "But darling, you are my daughter, my precious Ruby. I cannot regard you with the same stance as others. We will work it through. Promise." In one single move, Mom used her fingers, pying them on Ruby's knuckles. She traced along the ridges, rubbing them nguidly and pushing imaginary dust away. "There is a cabinet full of dark chocote in the kitchen." Mom's voice grew softer, both enticing and guard-lowering. "I am more of a dark chocote kind of girl during those times."

  Mom made it sound like a very private schoolgirl confession.

  "Darling, I hope I am not wrong in presuming that we both share the same taste." Something about the st part, uttered by Mom, felt doubly scandalous. One can pack more than one meaning behind those words.

  Coaxing to drink a full cup of chamomile tea. Now alluring offers of cabinets filled with dark chocotes. They led nowhere.

  With those offers, her words washed warmly upon ears.

  But that was the problem with Mom. She does things. Tries to, sometimes. Seemingly random and uncorreted, and expects approval and understanding.

  "Mom, what is your end game here? Magically turned me into this girl. You forcefully vioted my body." Tears, long held and suppressed now fell. "And you expect gratitude? For what? A cabinet full of dark chocotes?"

  Mom gave herself airs, chin tilting downwards, looking at her new daughter, a flippant dismissal surging with every delicate movement, as pushed dark mahogany curls over the shoulders. "Darling, how about we fix an appointment and get your ears pierced? Perhaps ruby pendant earrings may suit you better. That would go well with your name. Only the best for my daughter."

  Many things could be said of Morgane, of her impervious attitude to move mountains, and well-timed retorts to sucker punch her opponents. But all that was wrong with Mom, now, coalesced at that moment. She always posed more questions, provided no answers; even when directly confronted, her flippant attitude to steer the course of conversation triumphed in the end. When that failed, her magic gave an unfair advantage. Every will broken for her pleasure.

  Mom in a nutshell. She would have it her way, even if it meant a kimono-cd feminine nakedness confined in her vil.

  "Mom, even if you gave birth and tossed me aside, perhaps, you viewed me as a liability, but I would have expect that you show, some remorse, some responsibility born of culpability now. For what you did. Do you realise, I cannot meet dad now? He would never let me, like this, stay away from him. He has a new wife, twenty-five years old, and now an eighteen-year-old daughter in the same house? I can't do that to dad. He has more integrity than you."

  Mom chuckled, each sound punctuated deliberately with dripping mockery. "Oh darling." She sat, her eyes retained their predatory glint, scrupulously specuting, as though casually tossing careless words were never enough. Then, she grasped the hands, and pulled closer, till their bodies pressed.

  "This can also work two ways." Mom's voice carried a sibint hiss of threat. "I can keep you here, for an indefinite period of time, my Ruby, bound inside these walls, where I can dress you only in finest silks, help you walk through uneven cobblestone paths using satin heels, massage your soft skin, teach you all secrets known, feed you specially grown exotic fruit, while giving you warm cups of herbal tea."

  Morgane toyed absently, sliding her fingers through her curls, pying them nguidly, arranging them as may please her sight. "While others can go outside, finding their partners, growing families, raising kids, building bonds, and acquiring mastery, you can only wallow within these four walls." She gave one final huff, perhaps dissatisfied because nothing she touched can truly satisfy her covetous need.

  "Dad will find me." Ruby hated how her voice came out -- pathetic, weak and so full of vulnerability when she mentioned her father.

  Mom's lips parted. Her smile was smugly victorious. Then in one smooth motion, sliding closer even, Mom tugged, their bodies pressed even more, burning the skin, like Mom was sizzling hot.

  Her whispers were precise and sharp. "In fact, I will even open the doors. Find Marcel. Live with him. Experience how this image of Selina crumbles. Watch her go from this fantasy pornhub stepmom to disney stepmom. Or go to Craven and Tasha, and your dad will know of it sooner or ter. Or maybe try to strike on your own. No identifiable paper, or credentials. According to w, You, Ruby Gand, do not exist."

  Tears flowed freely behind hands that hid the expression, since Mom wielded each word and inflicted them cruelly, sshing through each scar, opening them afresh.

  Morgane's fangs sank deep. They dripped poison through each sylble. Her tone, razor sharp, hurt with surgical precision.

  "Or, darling, I can tell you a way out." Mom stood with her arms crossed and a gaze that seared the skin. "Beach sand can disguise themselves beautifully within miles and miles of ocean because sand cannot run; it can only hope somebody will come, someone, anyone, who can sweep them clear." Mom's coral lips twisted sardonically. "That is what you are. Waiting. For Marcel, Craven or Tasha to come and gather you. You can try your luck outside, run free, but I will find you." Her fingers weaved through rich curls. "In fact, I can waltz inside their homes, defile everything they held dear."

  Mom probably would. Empty threats weren't in her vocabury. In fact, with Mom, there were no threats. Only ultimatums and resulting cataclysms.

  Then, Mom eased, only slightly; her palms slipped under the arm, and her voice thickened to a tone she used when she finished a final stroke. "Or, darling, you can choose option two. And you can save everyone. You have the power, darling Ruby." Silence of a prophetical sort loomed. "For what was wrought with magic can be recast with magic."

  Those were the first real good news that Mom ever gave.

  "Darling, this is my offer. Join my Coven. Develop your dormant powers and undo it."

  "Fine." That lone word came out strenuous and rebellious, spoken between clenched teeth, but also carried hope-filled determination.

  "Ruby, come here." Mom's hands were surprisingly soft when they tugged. "You can select any clothes from my wardrobe for now." Then, her lips pulled suggestively. "But none of my special wear. Okay?"

  "I want nothing of yours, Mother."

  If those words serrated deep, Mom must have had a natural talent for her expressions did not drop.

  "Then, wait here, darling. Let me see if I can find something comfortable for you. Just till we reach the boutique."

  Mom's return was as swift as her departure. In her hands, she carried a sweatshirt and jogging pants that might have seen better days. Compared to the rest of the opulence that Mom surrounded herself with, the well-worn sweatshirt and jogging pants seemed very out of pce.

  Then, the realisation hit. Their size, the measurement, rger and wider, indicating those were from the men's section.

  "Mom, are those mens..." The disgust quickly followed. "Ewww.... Are they something left behind your boyfriend?"

  "No, it's okay." Mom bit her lower lip for a second and a half. Just enough of a pause to realise that something was amiss. "It is actually Marcel's."

  "Dads? Those are dad's clothes? How? Why do you even have them?"

  Mom's expression dropped. That patented bene gesserit look of shaming, that she so effortlessly wore like a second skin, failed to protect her.

  "Ruby, look at me, darling." Mom reached the bed, and patted the empty space beside.

  Mom requested to sit close by. Mom actually requested. Usually requesting was below Morgane. She either demanded or forced her hand. Never requested.

  "Mom, is there something I should know?" That soft, feminine and sing-song voice made Mom actually turn and consider.

  Her eyes were veiled by a thin film of moisture.

  "When we separated, we ensured that you would not be affected by our separation. And we did keep you away from it." Mom spoke quietly, her words surprisingly devoid of any viciousness. "Darling, but divorces are rarely spruce and trim. Even amicable ones like Marcel and mine leave a mess behind."

  "But Dad never spoke about any of it? How come?"

  Mom sighed, sucking air deeply through teeth, and released them in a resigned sigh. "Because your dad was tired. You refused to feed or sleep on routine, and Marcel was drained. Simply drained. And I was too busy packing. Finally to liberate myself and run." She picked sweatshirt, trying it between her fingers. The fabric resisted her clutch. Then, she released them slowly, watching them fall on her p. "So this accidentally got mixed in my belongings, and darling, I know you might be thinking that was some seventeen years ago, but I did try to return it, a few times, but other things happened. They became priority and returning a sweatshirt and jogging pants seemed not-so-worth it."

  Mom's natural timbre was enchantingly pleasant because her voice came devoid of any suaveness, poise or contemptuousness. All caustic tones dropped, leaving only a very raw and unbelievable tender note.

  Morgane gave a slight nudge with her shoulders and chuckled. When Mom cast her gaze down, she appeared surprisingly unprotected. "Maybe it's fate, Ruby. Until you asked, Marcel's sweatshirt and jogging pants remained forgotten and locked inside a drawer."

  A lie. The celerity with which Mom returned, those were not locked and forgotten. Mom knew exactly where they were.

  Morgane twisted to consider her daughter. Her eyes developed a bewitching sparkle. Any lingering softness present moments ago disappeared behind yers upon yers, concealing emotions beneath, where nobody can reach.

  She picked one strand of rich mahogany-coloured curl between her fingers. "You have such lustrous locks, darling. But these ends." She gave her disapproval. "They are damaged. Would you like me to give you a small snip, just along the ends? Trust me. Your mother is good with scissors."

  "Mom, you are hiding something? Please, there is something else you are not saying."

  Morgane cradled Ruby's hands between hers, running her fingers, ever gently, along her knuckles, lingeringly slow, each touch seeking something. "Ruby, I may sound impervious and even pretentious because everyone perceives me so. But remember, your mother is a powerful witch, and my blood runs through you." Mom spoke softly, tenderness shining through, a complete contrast. "Half of you comes from me. You are my only child. I would not have left you without any enchantments and sigils."

  "You are not making any sense, Mom."

  Mom sighed eventually. "Not any parlour trick, snap of fingers spell can impact you. You are protected against such magical interference."

  "But st night, you..."

  Mom gave her usual nonchant smile, carelessly dismissive because her cunningness exceeded, while her emotions mattered little.

  "All I am saying is, it might be a while for you to undo the magic." She drew closer; her breath carried the heavy aroma of mint and chamomile. "So promise me, darling, while you are like this, even if it were for a little while, will you be, Ruby? My daughter Ruby."

  "Sure." The answer came swift, without any moment to spare because when it came to Mom's request, there was only one correct answer.

  AnnouncementDear Readers, If you have enjoyed the first chapter, feel free to leave a comment or kudos.If you have any particur scenario or scene in mind, feel free to leave it in the comment.

  BluskyDiscord