"Nobody knows what became of her," Nyx answers, a touch of darkness in his voice.

No one knows what became of her? What does he mean by that? My chest tightens and it becomes painful to breathe. I don't want to know more. I'm not a child any longer. Why would I care? My mother abandoned me – that's the end of the matter. It's better that way.

I quickly grab the tome of Witch Tales, turning away so that Nyx can't see the tears in my eyes. "I'm tired. Can we go back to my room?"

Nyx doesn't push the subject, and I'm grateful for his silence. We return to my quarters almost without a word. Once inside, I place the books on the bed and empty the contents of the bags onto the bed.

"The party is at nine," Nyx says, pointing to a clock on the wall. "Leonora will come as soon as she's done."

His compassionate gaze tells me he doesn't want to upset me. I nod my head. "Do you want me to stay with you?" he asks.

A blush creeps up my cheeks at the suggestion. "No, I'm fine. I'm going to spend some time resting," I reply. "See you tonight?"

"Of course!" Nyx exclaims. "Leonora's parties are the best."

As soon as Nyx leaves, I set to put away the clothes, trying to distract myself from thoughts of my mother.

***

I glance at the clock on the wall, tapping my foot impatiently. Leonora still hasn't arrived to escort me to the party, and I can't help but feel a bit anxious. With a sigh, I turn to the mirror, taking in the reflection of the stunning gown that now adorns my body.

As I had been left alone in my room earlier, several witches had come to help me dress for the Great Banquet. One even attempted to follow me into the bathroom with a sponge, but I quickly requested some privacy.

The dress is nothing short of breathtaking. It's hard to believe they crafted it in just a few hours. Made to measure, it fits my body perfectly, making me feel like a princess on her wedding day. The deep turquoise fabric is accented with delicate white cherry blossoms, giving it an ethereal quality. Intricate lace and tiny diamonds adorn the bodice and sleeves, sparkling as I move my shoulders. The lace spreads like branches towards the tulle skirt, which rustles with each step. A white ribbon encircles my waist, completing the look.

Even my hair has been transformed, braided and tied back with green leaves and white cherry blossoms woven throughout. The dress smells divine, like a fresh spring morning. I can't help but smile at my reflection. The witches who had helped me get ready had done an incredible job – not only with the dress, but with my hair and makeup as well. Glancing in the mirror, I can hardly recognise myself. I've never felt this pretty before... Not just pretty, but truly and undeniably beautiful.

"Wow, Eileen, you look stunning!" I jump as Nyx enters my room unexpectedly, clad in an elegant black gala suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and smart figure. He looks incredibly handsome, almost rivalling the warlock from earlier. If only he didn't wear that mask... I can't help but wonder if he ever takes it off or if it's a permanent part of him.

"Thank you," I reply curtly, my cheeks warming at his compliment. I decide to return the favour. "You look very handsome yourself, Nyx."

"Thank you, I already know." He chuckles, and I can't help but roll my eyes playfully.

"Leonora can't come, but she's waiting for you at the banquet. Shall we go?" he suggests, offering his arm.

I look at myself in the mirror one last time, checking everything is in place. Studying my reflection, I find myself comparing my features to those of my mother. However, I'm grateful that I resemble my father more: light brown hair, clear brown eyes, and slightly freckled skin. It'd be awful to look like the woman who left us behind, anyway.

"Let's go," I say as I take Nyx's arm, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the suit, and his mischievous smile tugs at my heartstrings as we make our way to the ballroom.

"Let the adventure begin," I tell myself, my heart racing with excitement and nerves. After all, tonight is about having fun and experiencing my first party in Witchwood. Not that I'd been to that many. I glance down at the trainers I'm wearing instead of high heels – there's no way I'm going to risk looking ridiculous trying to walk in those. With the long skirt of my gown, no one will even notice them.

"You look nervous," Nyx says in his deep voice.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I'm not," I lie, frowning.

"It's cute you're such an awful liar." He smiles at me, his eyes mischievous, making my heart flutter just a bit. Idiot.

Nyx's movements are feline and graceful, reminding me of the cat he truly is, as we make our way to the ballroom. The chamber has undergone a tremendous transformation since we passed it earlier while it was still being fumigated.

"Wow," I breathe, taking in the sight before me. The tables are covered in bright white tablecloths, decorated with floral centrepieces in shades of yellow and orange, along with matching candles. A stage has been set up at the far end of the room, currently hidden by rich navy-blue curtains. At the foot of the stage, an orchestra plays a cheerful tune. Witches move from one place to another, talking and laughing, accompanied by their familiars.

"I'm going to look for Leonora. I'll be right back," Nyx says, and he disappears into the crowd.

My gaze drifts around the room, admiring the various outfits worn by the witches. Many of them are indeed wearing witches' hats, most matching the colour of their extravagant gowns. I see shimmering dresses of all styles – classic and elegant gowns with empire or mermaid cuts, as well as more playful ones with bare shoulders or puffed skirts in the shape of umbrellas. The hats are adorned with leaves, gemstones, flowers, silver chains, and even twinkling lights. The level of ostentation seems limitless.

"Isn't this amazing?" I think to myself, feeling both excited and slightly overwhelmed. I'm surrounded by an enchanting world I never even knew existed, and now I'm a part of it all.

As I continue to take in the breathtaking scene around me, my gaze falls upon a witch wearing a black and gold Elizabethan dress. The gown features one of those huge heart-shaped collars and a hat with a veil that covers her face. It's such a flamboyant outfit, I don't know how she can't even move in that. Another witch catches my eye; she's dressed in a trendy outfit covered in blue and green feathers. She stops from time to time to strike a pose with her familiar, a majestic peacock.

"This is like a fashion show or one of those balls you see in films," I think to myself, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the glamour. The witches are decked out in jaw-dropping evening gowns and sparkling jewellery, so much so that I no longer feel like the best dressed – although my outfit is still certainly one of the prettiest.

I notice that some of the familiars have also dressed for the occasion. Most of them appear in human form with their fascinating masks, while only a few retain their animal forms. It seems not every witch has a familiar, though, as they aren't as numerous as I would have expected.

I step forward, wondering what I should do to mingle. Some witches drink or rehearse dance steps near the orchestra. Others were already seated at their tables.

"Here I go," I say under my breath, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

Suddenly, the orchestra stops playing and the low strumming of a cello fills the silence. The lights in the room go out, and the witches fall quiet. I find myself drawn towards the stage as the curtains part, stopping next to an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

My eyes are immediately captivated by the figure on stage: a beautiful middle-aged woman with red hair that elegantly frames her pale features and cascades down her back. She's dressed in a fabulous dark green gown with gold embroidery around the neck and shoulders. Her intense, emerald-green eyes are nearly hypnotic as they meet mine – I imagine they might shimmer in the dark.

Her hands cradle a guitar with delicate precision, and she begins to play an old English folk song. The melody washes over me like a soothing wave. What truly leaves me in awe, however, is her voice: warm, intimate, powerful – a current that sweeps me away without me even noticing or caring, before calmly returning me to shore.

"Wow," I whisper to myself, completely mesmerised by the enchanting performance.

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

Downe to downe, hey downe, hey downe.

They were as blacke as blacke could be—with a downe.

As the woman continues to sing, I can't help but feel as if a spell is being cast over the audience. The song tells the story of three ravens spotting a dead knight, yet strangely, it's the ravens I find myself sympathising with. I've never experienced someone singing like this live before, and the woman's voice resonates within me, both soothing and heart-wrenching at the same time.

Down there comes a fallow doe,

As great with yong as she might go

With a downe derry, derry, derry, downe, downe…

Her voice echoes in my skull, throbbing in my chest, and I'm not sure if the tears welling up in my eyes are from happiness or sadness. Next to me, the old woman in the wheelchair offers a warm, knowing smile. Yet something about her unsettles me a bit.

“Do you like it?” the old woman whispers.

I nod. The woman extends a trembling finger, pointing at the singer. “She's my daughter. She's so talented, isn't she?”

She lifted up his bloody head,

Downe to downe, hey downe, hey downe.

And kiss'd his wounds that were so red—with a downe.

I don't want to interrupt, so I nod silently once again. The old woman, satisfied, turns her face towards the stage, full of pride, following the melody with slight movements of her head. Despite her advanced age, there's something childlike about her, and she's dressed in an elegant gown fit for the occasion.

As the song ends, the audience erupts into a roaring applause. And that's when the old lady grabs me by the sleeve, pulls me down and mutters in a low raspy voice: "He has marked you, and they shall claim you in time."

What the hell? I pull away from the old woman, my heart racing with fear and confusion. What did she mean by "he has marked you"? Who is "he"? As I try to edge away from her, the audience around us continues to cheer and clap, and I stumble backwards against something hard.