Chapter Text
The stone walls of the room were cast with strange shadows, illuminated by the red and yellow flames in the large chalice. The pale faced witch stood over the flames, her sickly face glowing in the light. She held a large tome in her right hand, her wand held in her left. She whispered strange words into the air, causing the flames to leap and shrink at times. She traced symbols in the air with her wand. The symbols formed in the air glowed brightly and fell into the fire, causing the fire to change colors; blue, yellow, green, red, purple. There wasn’t any discernible pattern to the colors or symbols. As the fire changed colors, the shadows on the walls morphed and shifted, creating silhouettes of other worldly creatures and beings.
As she continued to chant, the witch’s words became louder and louder, although she did not actually speak any louder than a whisper. Her sallow features looked more hollowed out and gaunt as she continued with the ritual. A lock of greasy, mouse brown hair fell out of the loose bun at her nape, obscuring part of her face. The fire changed as she spoke, moving sluggishly. It became more liquid and languid, lazily spilling over the sides of the chalice. A drop of fire splattered on the ground, burning a scorch mark into the stone. The witch ignored the spilled fire and continued to chant.
The drop of fire shifted and rolled toward the witch. It came to the edge of her once clean robes and leapt up the stained cloth. As if in a trance, the witch continued to chant. Her pale eyes stared straight ahead, no longer reading from the tome in her hand. Her wand continued to trace images in the air, which continued to fall into the fire, which swirled in multi-colored flames. Her movements seemed less controlled, as if someone else was puppeteering her movements. She didn’t notice, or rather she didn’t care about the flames consuming her clothes.
Despite glowing white, the flames did not burn her. In fact, the flames seemed to cloak her, shrouding her in bright white. Her hair fell out of the bun, as the flames burned away the wooden clip holding her hair up. The witch resembled an ancient goddess of fire than a sickly and mousy young woman.
Her skin seemed to glow from within. Her pale eyes looked as if they were lit by fires in her eyes. Soon, the flames were even licking the wand and book in her hands, but not burning them.
Her voice seemed to grow deeper and layered, as if another person was whispering the words with her. The shadows on the wall seemed to still, as if the otherworldly creatures in the room were waiting for the witch to finish. The fire in the chalice, which had been lazy and slow in its movement, suddenly grew lively again. It shot to the ceiling, flashing red, then blue, then bright white. All the shadows on the walls disappeared, and the room seemed to glow from every corner.
The witch continued, ignoring the changes around her. Her eyes appeared as if flames were coming out of them, and her mouth, which had never stopped moving, seemed to spew fire with each word.
Suddenly, the flames in the chalice shot inside the woman through her mouth and nose and eyes. Her back arched unnaturally, her neck stretched backwards. She screamed soundlessly as the flames consumed everything inside her. Her eyes, no longer bright with fire, stared blankly in pain at the wall.
Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. She slumped to the ground. Her sallow skin was cracked and dry, with not a single drop of sweat. She gasped for air, rolling over to lay on her side. Her throat seemed to close as she rasped. Her lips cracked and bled as her tongue laved over her bottom lip searching for any sort of moisture.
Then, a black mark appeared on her arm. She shot up, grasping at it. Her wide, red shot watery blue eyes roved greedily over the skin. Soon, a name appeared in full. Her eager eyes narrowed as she read. Her narrow features became pinched as she realized that she did not recognize the name. She wailed in anger over her arm, her nails digging into the flesh. The soul magic that she had performed did not yield what she wanted most. Frustrated, she kicked at the empty chalice. It rocked and fell over, clattering to the stone floor. A single drop of flame remained, glowing a weak orange. It rolled forward and sank into the ground, unnoticed by the fuming witch.
In the ground, the flame found a treasure trove of wards and old magics below the old house. It greedily consumed the magic, growing larger in size. It continued to sink, looking for more magic to consume.
It found a cavern of natural magics and burned it greedily. Soon, the flame turned bright yellow, then green, then white. The pool of flame shook in the cavern, and then suddenly exploded.
No vibrations or disturbances shook the ground. Instead, magic shot out, hitting each being, magical or not, marking them. Invisible strings of flame magic connected people, writing names on their arms. The magic continued to flow outwards, seeming to never end.
At the center of the explosion of magic, a group of Aurors appeared around the young woman. She was promptly bound with ropes wrapping around her arms and legs, but she gave no attempt to resist. Her pale eyes stared ahead, unseeing. What reason did she have to struggle, when her soul mark wasn’t the right person’s name?