This dark little piece is a continuation of last weeks story about the witch and her vengeance. It was inspired by the six-sentence-story prompt HARMONY, by girlontheedge, and a few comments that were made on last weeks story concerning revenge.
She scraped a slash across the four lines, and felt a pang of regret as she looked at the scratches that decorated the bulk of her cauldron.
She could remember like it was yesterday, when she had stepped into the pool of harmony to join the order, and the water of purification had turned jet black.
Apologies had been made as she was ushered to the door, and it had taken weeks of crying, begging, before someone would finally tell her why she would never be welcome, why the others would not so much as look at her.
The water had turned because her soul bore a stain, a mark of her her own making, telling all who could see that she had used the gifts she had been given for ill purpose, and nothing she could do would ever remove it, would ever make her what she was before, worthy.
She had gone home and carved the first scratch into the side of her cauldron, making a vow, then and there, if she could not be of harmony, then she would be of vengeance, and as she ran a hand across the hashed pattern on the cauldron, she realized that she had kept that promise far too well…