The dim light casts shadows on the worn, wooden floor as I sit on the rug in our small living room. My father retrieves an old photo album from the shelf, his fingers gently brushing off the dust that's settled over time. He plops down beside me, and we're both enveloped in a cloud of nostalgia.

"See this, Eileen? This was when your mum and I first met," he says, pointing to a picture of them at a pub. Mum's laughing at one of Dad's paintings, her eyes bright with amusement. "She didn't realise she was talking to the artist himself when she made fun of my painting," he continues.

"Where did Mum go?" my younger self inquires, gazing at my father with innocent curiosity.

"Ah, well... she's busy with something important. She'll be back soon," he replies, avoiding my eyes.

As I get older, his excuses become more transparent, and the frustration builds within me. I can't help but wonder if Diana, my Mum, is dead or if she abandoned us. It's like a heavy weight on my chest.

"Are you sure she's coming back, Dad?" I ask some other time, now a teenager, while my father cooks breakfast in the kitchen, my voice shaking slightly with anger and sadness.

"Of course, love," he insists, but his voice wavers, betraying him.

"Then why hasn't she come back already? Why can't we go see her?" I challenge. The silence that follows speaks volumes.

At night, I would often find myself thinking of her. I imagine what she might look like in person, how it would feel to hug her, and most of all — why did she leave us? As the years pass, Dad's excuses no longer work. Why is he lying to me? Perhaps he's still too in love to admit she abandoned us when I was a baby, even to himself. Perhaps he truly thinks that one day she will return, forever unable to move on and find someone else.

I eventually stopped asking, and even listening to the stories about my mother. I don't want to know if she left for another family or if she died in an accident. In fact, I don't care.

And yet here I am, asking this woman if she's my mother.

I gaze expectantly at this blue-eyed, blonde-haired woman, who smells like flowers and cake, this stranger who comforts me in her arms and claims to have been searching for me. The woman smiles tenderly, visibly touched by the question, her lips moving to form an answer.

What if she’s indeed my mother? What if she’s not her? I don't know what terrifies me the most. What if she's my mother and she's been avoiding me all this time? What if she isn't, and I just made a fool of myself?

“My name is Leonora Wildcherry,” the woman says. “I'm your aunt.”

“My aunt?” I gasp.

"Diana is my older sister. They all say we looked a lot alike.”

My mind whirls as I try to process the information. Dad never mentioned that Mum had a sister. He never mentioned her family at all. Has he been keeping things from me? What else didn't he tell me?

"I never gave up hope of finding you," Aunt Leonora says, her fingers gently stroking my hair, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I knew you were out there somewhere. I had to find you before one of those monsters caught you... I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner."

"You don't have to apologise," I reply, overwhelmed by her frankness. She certainly doesn't beat around the bush, nor is she afraid to express her feelings. “I know it's a lot, and you will surely have plenty of questions about your mother. What do you want to know?”

“I—”

A groan interrupts me, coming from the sofa. Nyx opens his eyes, and Leonora hurries over to pat his head reassuringly and check the wound. To my amazement, the gash has nearly disappeared, the blood dried around the edges.

“He's going to be fine,” she beams. It feels like someone has just lifted a backpack full of stones off me. I approach Nyx too, placing a hand over one of his front paws.

"Thanks for saving me, Nyx," I say, gratitude welling up inside me. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what would've happened."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Before my very eyes, Nyx's body begins to tremble. Black smoke envelops him, just like when he transformed into that ferocious beast earlier. I hold my breath, waiting for the smoke to clear. But this time, there's no monstrous creature emerging from the haze.

Instead, a beautiful young man stands before me, his lean, muscled body dressed in a fancy black suit with an antique flair. The tailcoat and smart pants accentuate his figure, while the buttoned black shirt highlights his broad chest. His handsome face is adorned with a glittery mask of a black cat, and his captivating yellow eyes glimmer behind it, as if holding a secret only he knows.

"Wow," I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from him. My hand, still resting on what used to be a paw, now feels the warmth of a strong, masculine hand. I snatch it back, shocked. "You're... you're a person?"

"Mmmph..." Nyx grunts, clearly still in pain from his injuries. "Familiars... I will explain later," Leonora interjects with a reassuring smile.

My cheeks flush crimson as I remember changing clothes in front of Nyx, thinking he was just a cat. How could I have been so careless? I rub my head, feeling utterly embarrassed. "You... saw me changing," I blurt out.

"I'd be more worried about me witnessing how you sang happy birthday to yourself," Nyx replies, his voice strained but undeniably ironic. "And please don't call me Mister Kitty Cat ever again. That was embarrassing."

Nyx starts coughing, and Leonora hurriedly feeds him some of the paste she made earlier. He eats it from her hand, then leans back against the sofa, closing his mesmerising eyes. “Nyx needs to rest,” Leonora whispers, her voice filled with concern. “Come.”

I follow Leonora to the back of the room, where she motions for me to take a seat at an old wooden desk. My curiosity is piqued as I notice a small clay stove near the desk, and Leonora fills a tea kettle with water before placing it on the stove. She starts throwing in various leaves and spices, creating a mixture that smells both intriguing and comforting.

"Can you pass me the mint?" she asks.

I glance down at the small flowerpot on the desk, holding a sad-looking sprig of spearmint with just one lonely leaf. "This one?" I ask, unsure if it's what she needs.

"Well, there's nothing left! Just a second..." Leonora picks up the pot, dipping her index finger into the soil. Suddenly, the soil glows with a greenish light, and before my eyes, the plant begins to grow and put out new leaves. In mere moments, it transforms into a lush, leafy plant. My jaw drops as I gawp at the sight. Was that what I think it was? Was it… magic?

"That's better," Leonora says with a satisfied smile. She plucks a bunch of mint and dips it into the teapot. As the tea warms, she turns to face me. "So, what do you want to know?"

My heart races, filled with questions about this newfound world. But there's one thing that keeps nagging at my mind. "How... How did you do that?" I stammer, still in awe of the growing plant.

Leonora chuckles softly. "Magic, dear niece. The very same magic that runs through your veins." Her words send shivers down my spine.

I can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness as I stare at Leonora. "So can I do magic? How?" I ask, my voice wavering slightly.

Leonora's eyebrows rise in surprise, and she looks at me with concern. "Don't you want to talk about your mother first?"

"Can't we talk about magic?" I ask, desperate to focus on anything other than the topic of my mother.

"There are certain things about your mother that you should know," Leonora insists, her tone gentle but firm.

A sigh escapes my lips. I don’t want to think about her right now. Talking about Mum always puts me on edge, and I’m too worn down for that today. It’s a relief that Leonora is my aunt. "Can we talk about that later?" I plead, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether.

Leonora watches me for a few seconds, assessing my reaction. Finally, she nods. "We can talk later," she agrees sympathetically.

Relief washes over me, and I smile gratefully. "So about magic—" Leonora says, her own smile returning. "The answer is yes. All witches can, as you say, 'do magic'. After they turn thirteen, young witches are placed under the tutelage of a relative who guides them until they become ready to gain their power. Would you like to learn more about it?"

"Can I make plants grow too?" I ask, remembering the miraculous sight of the spearmint plant coming to life under her touch.

Leonora laughs, amused by my question. "It's a bit more complicated than that... Look." She opens one of the desk drawers, which is full of papers, and places a blank sheet of paper and a pen on the table. She takes the pen and draws three spirals joined in the middle.

"Do you know this symbol?" she asks me, her blue eyes twinkling.

I shake my head, fascinated by the elegant design. "It's a Triskelion," Leonora explains, pointing to each of the spirals in turn. "Body, mind, and soul. Only witches can perceive and communicate with certain creatures called Wisps. They grant us our abilities. Unfortunately, there is always a price to pay. Sometimes the price is low, sometimes it's... too high."

I watch Leonora's expression darken momentarily, her thoughts clearly wandering to something troubling. But she quickly composes herself and continues, "Wisps are wise and powerful, but they are also unpredictable. That's why it's so important for a witch to rely on her familiar." She nods toward Nyx, who is now lounging with a hint of smugness.

Leonora rolls up her sleeve, revealing a Triskelion tattoo on her wrist. "Almost all of us get tattoos, it makes it easier." I can't help but grin at the idea. I always wanted a tattoo.

“What does it take to do magic? How do I communicate with a Wisp?” I ask, eager to know more.

"Do you want me to demonstrate?" Leonora replies in a tantalising voice.

My heart races with anticipation.