I just joined this site very recently to practice writing for challenges/contests. I've always been a writer, but have been hyperfocused on one novel for so long that I've neglected my writing skills in other contexts. This seems like a safe space to practice without pressure of perfection.

Terrawyn leaned over the giant cast iron pot in the corner. She took a huge whiff of it, dust tickling her nose, making her sneeze. Never minding the dust, she carried it over to the stone fireplace. Snapping her fingers, a dazzling rainbow spark flew out of her hands, setting the fire.

As the bottom heated, Terrawyn added some water so it could begin to boil. Three potatoes waited on the counter behind her, and she chopped them into thick cubes. Tossing them into the water along the way, she stepped outside and plucked up as much clover as she could find from beside the entryway.

The clover needed a prayer before it would be ready. She filled her mortar with the clover, ground it down and added some oil. Terrawyn held the concoction above her head and called upon a blessing of the god and goddess.

The legend told upon this evening the god and goddess would meet in the forest and be wed. It would bring luck to anyone who prayed that evening.

Terrawyn took slabs of chicken and patted them with a cloth to remove any moisture. She cut the meat and rubbed it down with her sacred oil mixture. A bright green plume erupted as she added it to the simmering water and potatoes, and Terrawyn knew her brew had been successful. As she waited for the meat to cook, she celebrated and danced a jig about the kitchen. The god and goddess had blessed her.

Roxanne focused as much as possible on the man. She couldn’t react fast enough. In one motion, he cut the boy’s throat. The blood gushed down his front, and the eyes that stared at nothing glazed over. He collapsed on the floor, and they allowed his mother to run over and hold his lifeless body. A bulb grew in her throat, and Roxanne’s heart tore to watch the scene unfolding before her.

“Kyshowhi Viahershy sy gorosta,” chanted a different man. The moment the woman died, he had to sit as well. Each man had one chance at the spell before they ran out of power. The two men who cast the spells left the room and went upstairs, probably to rest.

The others rushed to move the bodies from the house. The large man told them to put them in the barn. “We will burn them later once we know what we’re doing with these two.”

He came up to them and took a knee, “Well? Are you going to lie to us too, or will you tell us what you are?”

Majesta spat at him and struggled against the bonds. He stood over on her side, and Roxanne heard her grunt for a moment, but she couldn’t see what had happened from where she was. One of the men that had gone to move the bodies popped in through the doorway, “you should come check this out.”

Roxanne watched him leave. They were alone. They fought the ropes but then realized they weren’t going anywhere.

“I can’t shadow walk here, they took my knives, but with my hands tied, I’m not much help anyway,” explained Majesta.

“I can’t hold my control on them for long. I can try, but I’m not sure I can get them to let us go,” said Roxanne.