Reawakening: The Elf-Witch Prophecy
Prologue – Draft
This last bomb was closer than the others, larger. Bombs that were only meant to scare residents, convince them to willingly flee to the DMZ are now exploding occupied buildings.
Early this morning, an explosion blasted the west end of Mellie’s large apartment complex, collapsing the roof through all eighteen floors. And this latest bomb, just an hour earlier at dusk, did the unthinkable. It broke through Mellie’s carefully crafted protections, a barrier she swore nothing could even crack. But she underestimated them. Like a handful of her equally stubborn neighbors, she didn’t believe The Guardians would go so far as to kill the people they’d vowed to keep safe.
Mellie huddles with her daughter Brandy under the long kitchen prep table. She inches left, trying to avoid broken herb jars fallen from what were well-organized shelves of remedies, salves, and teas. All around, her hearth, her power center, is shattered. Kitchen witch, she called herself, and people from around the city paid handsomely for her tinctures and brews.
Until the zealots started winning the war. Then she was only visited at night by the few desperate enough to seek her medicines, people cloaked in disguise so no one could accuse them of trading with a satanist. No one wanted to be seen even talking to her or Brandy. Fellow residents turned away when they passed in the hall or met at the mailboxes.
Mellie had to admit it was becoming lonely. But what else could she do?
None of that matters now. They’ll have to leave.
“What about the cellar, Mum?”
“Blocked, luv. Entrances have collapsed. Whoever made it in there, it will be days or maybe weeks before anyone digs them out.”
“Not that they’d have let us in anyway,” Brandy mutters.
“You know what we have to do,” Mellie says. “You know it’s time. We can’t hold out here even one more day.”
Brandy holds her breath.
“We must get to the Great Yew—“
“No!”
Mellie fixes her with what she hopes is a steadying gaze. “We can do this. Your child will not survive if we don’t.” Her look softens. “It’s no longer about us, luv. That child must live. If she doesn’t, the Goddess will not grant us a second chance. You know this.”
Brandy nods, tears threatening to spill, but she hurries to wipe them away. She raises her chin in an act of courage, a sight that hurts Millie more than if her daughter broke down and cried.
“We’ll get there; I can feel it.” Brandy’s voice cracks as she looks down at her swollen belly. “We have to.”
Mellie hands her daughter one of two damp rags then covers her own mouth and nose. “You ready?”
Brandy nods and the two crawl around the glass to the pantry. They grab their emergency bags, make sure they’re stocked with a water bottle, dried meats, fruits, and first-aid, then Mellie leads them to the door.
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