Chapter Text
The full moon glowed a brilliant gold as it shone down on the witch city of Covenhood. A prosperous sign, to be sure. It was said that on nights like these the magic which flowed through the veins of the land of Equinox was at its strongest, fueling its magic users to lengths where even the impossible could become a reality.
As sweet as the sentiment was, Willow had never actually had any such luck with those rumors. Not once in her twenty-two years had the full moon been enough to make her dreams and expectations come to life. Not that it had ever really stopped her mother from trying to shape Willow into the sort of witch she was supposed to be, in her eyes.
It didn't matter either way, because Willow knew, like it or not, that she fell behind the other witches her age when it came to magical prowess. She couldn't brew a potion even if the instructions were written clearly for her, nor was she able to cast most spells any other witch could easily manage.
Even after following her mother's instructions carefully countless times, Willow's simple treatment for warts turned into a sticky black mess. The most basic of spells, levitating a small object, often consisted of Willow managing to make her pen fall onto the floor and roll away.
And, to her greatest disappointment, she was unable to summon a familiar to help serve as her guide and catalyst after all these years - something that a younger, less experienced witch was expected to do with ease.
There were only two kinds of magic that Willow had any talent with at all. The first was flying. Any witch worth their salt could fly on a broomstick or something of the sort. That was simply in the magic users' blood, and an automatic given. It was the first and only skill Willow had mastered that made her mother happy.
Her second talent, on the other hand, only served to draw her mother's ire. Cassia Ravenwood had always been rather old-fashioned that way. In her deep violet eyes, there were only certain jobs worthy of a witch's magic. Alchemy was acceptable. Potion-brewing was expected. Even the occasional delivery service from one's broomstick flying high in the night sky was allowed. Baking magic was not.
It wasn't anything special, not really. Just ordinary baking with a few more spices and herbs infused with powers to cure illnesses or provide strength. But Willow liked to think that the bread she baked was enough to make her customers' lives a little bit easier. If her baking could at least bring a smile to someone's face, that was magic enough for her.
But Cassia Ravenwood, head witch of the town and Willow's mother, had never seen it that way. Baking was so mundane that it was surely reserved only for the common masses, and beneath the grand Lady Ravenwood and any who shared her blood. The Ravenwoods had cooks hired specifically to do such menial work. The last place Willow needed to be was the kitchen. As the daughter of the head witch, she was surely meant for greater things.
Willow exhaled a heavy sigh. She may have been twenty-two, but she was still Cassia's daughter. Whatever her mother said, that was the way it had to be, and that lesson had been engraved in her heart for as long as she could remember. It became a mantra, in a way. Whatever she could do to be a "dutiful daughter" and bring honor to the family name was essential and everything else was unimportant.
However obedient Willow saw herself, there were still parts of her that remained resistant to the rigid rules that her mother had set for her. It hadn't stopped her from sneaking some freshly baked bread into her basket of deliveries.
If her mother ever noticed or asked, Willow would just swear it came from the chefs working in their large kitchen. Cassia might have believed her, but Willow knew the truth, and that was one of the few sources of relief she got from living in such a stifling environment. She had baked the bread wrapped in soft cloth, hidden away in the basket she carried. It was her own way of giving back to Covenhood.
Even if it was small. Even if it was mundane. It was Willow's creation, and she wanted to share it with her people.
Willow brushed a few strands of her pale blue hair out of her face as she checked the long, pristinely-written list her mother had given her one last time. She had a good view of the city she grew up in from her high perch on her broomstick. It made it all the easier to find and deliver her mother's potions to the good witches of the city. Cassia said it was the only work her daughter was suited for until she gained the proper abilities a witch "should have", but at least it left her mother time for her own work and a quiet place for Willow to clear her head.
"Looks like Mrs. Hemlock is the last one tonight," Willow murmured to herself as she shoved the list back in the pocket of her long black coat.
Gloria Hemlock was one of the elder witches of their sleepy town. She had lived in Covenhood since she was a child, married there, and had spent her days growing herbs and plants for use in potion-making. She often slipped some herbs Willow's way in return for some bread baked specifically to ease sore joints. Willow was always happy to help and share her gift with people she cared about.
Willow carefully guided her broom down from the heavens to rest in the Hemlock garden. It was a sight to behold with its beautiful flowers and green growing herbs. Willow had no talent when it came to the work that Mrs. Hemlock did either. Her mother had tried to apprentice her under Mrs. Hemlock when potion-brewing and alchemy came up short.
Mrs. Hemlock was kind and grandmotherly, but that alone wasn't enough to help Willow. Still, it had been within the secret confines of the old witch's kitchen that Willow first learned the joy of baking. It was only right that she gave back to her former mentor from time to time.
Willow smoothed out the skirt of her black dress and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Here goes nothing, or so she told herself.
She approached the door and knocked gently, praying this visit would go as smoothly as all the others had tonight.
"Coming, coming," came the gentle sing-song of Mrs. Hemlock's voice.
It wasn't too long after that the door opened to reveal an old, hefty witch. Her wide smile only grew when she saw Willow, revealing some missing teeth.
"Why, good evening, Willow! Cassia has you out doing her dirty work, does she?" The old woman gave a kindly smile Willow's way.
Willow nodded and offered her own sheepish grin in return. "Yes, ma'am. Though I don't think she'd appreciate you calling it that."
"Bah! Never mind her!" Mrs. Hemlock waved her hand dismissively. "She'll fuss about anything and everything!"
As much as Willow would have liked to stand up for her mother, she couldn't argue with the truth. She'd spent the last twenty-two years of her life being fussed over. Rude as it was, Mrs. Hemlock was right about the head of Covenhood, and her words were validating.
"But enough about her. You have my delivery?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"All of it?" The old woman's thin brows raised suggestively, though her meaning wasn't anything so vile.
Willow opened her basket's lid to reveal a jar of enchanted ink and a loaf of bread baked just earlier that day. The woman's face lit up as she gingerly took her order from Willow's bag. She inhaled a deep breath of the wheaty scent of Willow's cooking, then nodded in satisfaction.
"You're a genius, Willow," she insisted.
Willow shook her head. "My mother would beg to disagree."
"Not everyone can make bread like this, dear."
"But everyone can brew potions and cast spells. Everyone else has a familiar, and I don't." Willow could feel her voice rising in frustration.
The old woman hummed thoughtfully to herself as she brought her newfound belongings inside. She waved for Willow to follow her in as she rummaged about in her kitchen. It was all Willow could do to stand patiently by the door, so she walked inside eagerly.
"You sell yourself short. Your mother's doing, I'd imagine."
Willow lowered her gaze to the floor. "She's only doing what she thinks is right," she recited.
"But that doesn't make it right, does it?"
It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, nor did Willow imagine it would be the last. Mrs. Hemlock was the only one who really seemed to believe Willow had any worth as a witch. Baking bread wasn't enough to call herself a proper mage. And it certainly wasn't enough to be the heir of House Ravenwood.
Still, Mrs. Hemlock went on talking without a care.
"I do wish you'd stop speaking so poorly of yourself, dear. You do amazing work. Why, I wouldn't be able to write a letter to my dear Ivy if not for you. And my knees surely would have given out by now. You really are amazing."
Mrs. Hemlock made sure to make eye contact with Willow's pale lavender eyes to make sure Willow had heard her. Willow had, but it still didn't feel like she could do enough - and definitely not anything amazing, like Mrs. Hemlock had proclaimed.
"But you do more!" Willow insisted.
What she wouldn't have given to have an actually useful talent instead of just baking! Willow had dreamt of it for years, to just one day wake up and be casting spells left and right with her familiar at her side. Even Mrs. Hemlock had her old scraggly tomcat to keep her company.
But still Mrs. Hemlock just tutted and shook her head, before continuing her lecture about Willow valuing herself. It was still hard to listen to after all this time.
The old woman only paused to briefly look out the window. Her thin brows furrowed at the sight of the full moon.
"Cassia plans on testing you again tonight, doesn't she?" Mrs. Hemlock asked, finally changing the subject.
Willow nodded, holding back a sigh of relief. "My mother says it's high time I summoned a familiar." Willow couldn't help but agree with her.
Mrs. Hemlock hobbled back over to Willow who hadn't moved from her spot by the door, and pulled her into a back-breaking hug. As she pulled away, she placed two small bottles of herbs in Willow's palm.
"Tonight'll be the night. I'm sure of it."
"I hope you're right."
Willow's brows knit together as she stared down at the two bottles in her hand. One read "thyme", the other "sage". As much as she wanted to hand them back, insisting she didn't need them, Willow knew it wouldn't do any good. Cassia would grow suspicious if there was extra payment when she checked; this was the only way the old woman could thank Willow for her bread.
But Mrs. Hemlock didn't seem to mind too much. She gently placed a finger under Willow's chin and lifted her head.
"It will be. Trust me."
Willow didn’t know what made her so certain, but Mrs. Hemlock sounded so sure of herself that Willow couldn't bring herself to argue. She hoped Mrs. Hemlock was right, for her sake. It wasn't only disappointing her mother that upset her at her failed attempts in the past. She had become less and less assured of herself as a witch at all. Would a familiar even exist for someone like her?
She stuffed the two bottles of herbs safely into her pocket and let the old woman drop some coins into a jingling satchel for her mother. It wouldn't be long now before Willow was under her scrutiny once more. All she could do was pray that the moon was merciful and blessed her with overflowing magic.