She spread the red velvet across her lips, looking into her own heavily made-up eyes, black and mysterious. Smoke and mirrors. She didn’t recognise herself but she didn’t have to – it was the others she had to deceive and they all participated in this ritual so she just had to hurry and become.
The spells she had learned were to be the signals she would give out – sex appeal, she recollected it being called, alluring and the perfect snare. She wondered if tonight would be the night it would work; she was a novice, after all – a witch in training. She wondered whether or not she would have the man by the end of it.
She pursed her lips together, gently so that the lipstick glued her lips together ever so slightly, so that they made the lightest plosive sound – like a kiss. It sounded like sex.
Terror filled her heart for a moment as she felt her grip loosen and a she saw a flash of her own hand waving her reflection goodbye. But, her desire to belong dragged her back, her nails, she imagined, like her sisters’ had, clawing at the cold dirt. It would be warm at the stake. The flames would lick and curl at her feet. They would dance around her as she laughed. She let out a wicked smile as she tipped another whiskey down her throat, warm and sweet.