The Witch

Chapter two: Third person POV

The cold night embraces the child. The shadows lurking. The cries of the poor baby were carried by the wind. As time passed, they became weaker and weaker. The hunger that she experienced was something that no baby should withstand. The cruelty of her father evident in the way he abandoned his own blood.

The demon was waiting for her to perish. He could then claim her delicious soul. A pure soul, one of the most expensive ones in hell. Since he felt that she was going to be born, he installed a curse inside her. The curse of death. Everything that she loved would perish, and up to that moment it was becoming true.

A baby loves her mother, their bond forms since they are being created inside the woman’s womb. She has loved her mother since she was in the uterus, and that lead to her eventual demise.

That poor baby had a heavy burden over her shoulders, but soon it would all be over. Soon her pain and cries would leave this world. It would be as if she never existed. No one would remember her, and the few people that interacted with her would forget her eventually.

Then, out of nowhere, a kind soul appeared. She was driven by her mother's love and sacrifice. It was her way of protecting her child. To give her a guardian angel, one protected from her curse. But for how long? Would it last forever? Or would the poor baby be left alone once again? Life was cruel, and for someone labeled as the devil, it was a crueler destiny.

"What have they done to you poor child?" The woman approached the baby and took her in her hands. She instantly cried harder. "Shhh poor baby, I'm going to take you home." It was as if she had understood the woman, as the baby instantly stopped crying. She started sucking on her thumb to calm her anger.

"You are hungry, aren't you my sweet child? Let's go back, so I can give you some milk." She took the baby to her cabin, a small place constructed from the earth itself. Its walls were made of sun-dried mud bricks. The roof was crafted from dried grass. A single, sturdy wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings depicting ancestral stories or symbols of her lost tribe's beliefs. It wasn't an extraordinary house, and it stood alone in the savanna. That poor woman, who was the kindest person you could have known, was left there to die alone.

One day, when she went to get some water, her tribe suddenly disappeared. No one knew what happened, and unfortunately, all the blame was placed upon her. She was cataloged as cursed, the same as this baby, and no one dared to enter that territory.

She entered her cabin to keep herself and the baby warm, and took some milk that she had from a lioness that had come to her house for help. Animals always showed up at her doorstep, and she helped them all. The lioness was staying with her, as she had her cubs recently. The woman helped the lioness, and in exchange she asked for some milk.

People think that animals don't understand anything, but the truth was that they did. They were pure souls, driven by instinct, but if you were kind to them, they returned that kindness.

The milk was warm, and the baby ate it all quickly from a bowl. She was starving from being left alone, but now that her tummy was full she went to sleep. The woman looked at the baby in her peaceful sleep. She couldn't understand how people could be so cruel, but the truth was that it wasn't easy to come into this world.

She covered the baby with some of her clothes. She didn't have anything for her, so she had to use what she had to make her some clothes. She didn't have anything fancy, but she would give that baby what she could. Now, she was only missing one thing, a name.

"How am I going to call you little baby?" She looked at her, thinking on something that would suit her. She didn't want her to feel branded for what they did to her. She wanted this little baby to have a better life than she did, but the fact that she was abandoned in that way could only mean one thing: she was disowned by her own family.

"I'm going to call you Aziza. You are one little precious and beautiful baby, and you should have a name that suits you." The baby slept soundly in her arms, feeling the beating of the woman's heart. For some reason, it reminded her of her mother. Was it fate? No, it was goodbye.

"I love you my baby. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, please remember me even if it is only in your dreams."

That night, two souls connected, driven together by love, and the bond that would form over the years was a pure one. Aziza grew to be a beautiful, strong and caring woman. She learned all from the woman that she believed was her mother, but one day she had to learn the truth, and so the woman sat her down for them to have a chat.

"Aziza, I never meant to hide anything from you, but I've been carrying a secret since you were born." Aziza looked at her intrigued, that woman was her mother, and they told each other everything. "Now that you are eighteen it is time for you to know the truth."

"Tell me mother, what is wrong?" She held the hands of the woman in front of her. Now that she looked closely she could see that they didn't look alike.

"You call me mother, but you should call me by my name, Nia Kipkorir, as I am not the woman that birthed you." Aziza was in shock, all this time the woman that she thought was her mother wasn't. She knew Nia's nature, and so she knew that if she was raising her it was for a good reason.

"It doesn't matter if you didn't give birth to me, you are my mother. You took care of me. I just want to know what happened to my mom. Was she a friend of yours?" Nia was debating about telling the truth to her. It was a harsh one. But she thought it was best if she understood where she came from.

"I didn't know your mother. I don't know what happened to her. I found you in the savanna, left alone." Aziza knew what it meant. She wasn't wanted by her own parents, but that didn't matter. Nia had been kind enough to save her and give her a beautiful home.

“My name, did you give it to me?” Nia nodded. It wasn’t that she wanted to met her parents, she just wanted to asked them a few questions that she had.

“Do you know why I have red eyes?” She had asked this question several times throughout her life. At first Nia didn’t answer her, she diverted the subject, but then she claimed that those were her father’s eyes. Now this was an obvious lie, but from her reaction, Aziza knew that Nia had an answer for this question.

“I heard that the leader of a tribe lost his wife and daughter, and apparently it was the same day that I found you. I never investigated further, and I suggest that you don’t do it as well. He is a cruel man.” It was true, he was known as someone who mistreated his people. It was rumored that he was selling his own people as slaves for money.

“Only someone cruel could be my father.” Aziza stated. He didn’t want to meet the person that created her because she wanted to know him, she wanted some explanations.

She hadn’t told her mother anything, but for years her dreams had been plagued with strange things. Also, she realized a few years ago that she possessed some kind of magic, but when she saw that her mom didn’t have it, she decided to stay quiet. Maybe her father had the answer to that. Meaning, it was time to meet her creator.

"Where is this village mom?" Nia hesitated, she didn't want her daughter to go there. She was a pretty woman, someone that the chief might sell to get some money.

"Mom, I won't go there, but I'll try to gather some information from that place. I- I haven't told you everything mother." Aziza started speaking, but then Nia interrupted her.

"I know my sweet child. Do you think you could hide it from your mother?" Aziza was surprised she thought she was careful. "I've known for a while that you possess the gift of magic, and don't get me started on your nightmares. We live in the same house dear child." Aziza and Nia laughed, it was a beautiful moment between mother and daughter.

Little did they know that someone had seen Aziza's power as well, and the calmness that they were used to live in would soon be interrupted by disaster.