Isabell the Witch

Isabell breaks a plate, and gets lectured by a witch.

Is there a point to existence? What if life has no meaning? What is her purpose, in the end? What if she dies one day having accomplished nothing, after chasing a goal that she ultimately never achieves?

"Bell! Don't zone out, you're going to-"

Crack!

Isabell winces as the plate in her hands cracks straight down the middle. Shhk, she separates the pieces. Small fragments of the plate fall into the bucket she was washing it in. The white plate stares at her with its blue swirls. Silently, Isabella places the two halves on the grass next to the bucket.

Nadia steps in front of her with hands on her hips, frowning. "See, this is why I told Mrs. Eldwalkins that you can't be allowed to work with the porcelain yet. How can you afford to space out with your livelihood on the line? The Master might really throw you out at this rate, Bell."

"Sorry..." Isabell rubs her wet hands on her apron to dry them. "I can't seem to focus today. Can I take a walk?"

"Girl, you look like you need to sleep, not walk. Go straight to Mrs. Eldwalkins and tell her what happened, then you tell her that I want you in a bed until lunch. Take the broken porcelain to her too. That old woman should know a craftsman that can mend it back together. She should take responsibility for assignin' you to a place where you have no place bein'"

"Nadia, I..." Isabell hesitates.

Softening, Nadia reaches her hands out and pulls Isabell up to her feet. "I know, Bell. Just listen to me and do as I say, okay? I'll talk some sense into Mrs. Eldwalkins. She's too ambitious with you, honestly."

Isabell finally nods.

Nadia sends her into the mansion with the two sides of the broken plate, with ushered words of reassurance. Isabell swallows. She isn't nervous about being punished or having her pay docked. The Master of the mansion, a sweet old man, hasn't cared even when she blew up her room. He just smiled and assigned her to a new one.

Inside of the mansion, she climbs the stairs to the second floor and enters the first door on the right. The door reads, 'Mrs. Eldwalkins.'

After knocking, a gentle voice comes out. "Who is it?"

"It's Isabell, ma'am."

"You may enter."

Opening the door reveals a small office. Three bookshelves border the walls and surround a large desk covered in several stacks of paper, two inkwells, and a large open binder. An old woman is sitting at the desk with curly grey hair carefully tucked into a neat bun, wearing the black dress assigned to the Head Maid.

Mrs. Eldwalkins, without looking up from her paper, points to the extra chair on the side with her pen.

"Sit."

Isabell pulls up the lightweight, yet ornate chair to the desk, sitting politely with the evidence of her crime placed gently on her lap. Mrs. Eldwalkins continues writing for several minutes, filling the quiet space with the scratching of her pen. The small, neat handwriting appears on the paper like magic, and her hand doesn't shake once while she scribes something important down.

Clack.

"Alright," Mrs. Eldwalkins places her pen down, removing the pair of glasses from her face and looking up at Isabell. "Tell me, dear."

Isabell raises the two halves of porcelain.

Mrs. Eldwalkins frowns, reaching out for them. Isabell hands her one of the halves, while the old woman places her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. She examines the damage, then reaches out and receives the second half, placing them together like a puzzle.

"Hmm." She hums. "I'll pull in a favor from Higsbry. He'll fix it with a bit of gold and sparkle, and I'll see if the Master would like it displayed in his room as a fresh new art piece," She hands the plates back. "Place these on the bookshelf for me, dear. Any open space with do."

Isabell nods, walking to the bookshelf behind the desk and reaching up on her toes to a high shelf, the only open space.

"-Ah ah ah," Isabell flinches. "Do it right."

"... but Mrs. Eldwalkins, what if I-"

"Then don't."

Isabell shuts her eyes, sighing silently. Her nerves are evident on her face, but she does as instructed without argument. The plates scratch against each other as she positions them, raising her hands palms up, one half of each plate on either hand.

Her hair kicks up in an invisible breeze. The handkerchief tied around her head ruffles audibly, along with her dress. A mysterious power gathers around her.

The plates, balanced precariously on her palms, slowly begin to rise into the air. They shake slightly, dangerously, but continue ascending until they're in line with the appropriate shelf. Isabell frowns, sweat beginning to perspire on her hairline. Her hands shake imperceptibly as well.

Finally, she opens her eyes, and with the smallest of movements, she twitches her finger.

The plates are shoved forward quickly and harshly and barely stop before they have a chance to smash into the back of the bookshelf. Isabell, surprised, suddenly cuts off her magic, and the plates fall unceremoniously onto the shelf, clattering loudly. Miraculously, they don't break.

Sweat falls over Isabell's temple.

"Good."

Isabell unties the handkerchief around her head and dabs at her face. She exhales, having been unconsciously holding her breath.

Isabell is a young lady, only 19 years of age. Her hair appears to be straight and brown, reaching her shoulders- too short to be put in a bun like other maids. Her eyes are grey, almost blue, with a slight upturn. In many occasions, she's been told that she looks quite fierce when she's determined.

"Nadia said that I should go back to my room and sleep until lunch. I broke the plate because I couldn't focus on my work. May I go?" Isabella asks.

"No, that's not it. You broke the plate because you lack control. If you stopped leaking mana whenever you couldn't focus, then you wouldn't be having this problem. How will you survive when you leave this mansion if you blow up a room at an inn? You'll be paying off that debt for the rest of your life."

Isabell wraps her handkerchief around her hair again, still facing the bookshelf. Mrs. Edwin's continues speaking behind her.

"You should practice more, not go to sleep. You'll be blowing up your bed next- then how will you sleep? Nadia is no witch, she can't understand. We witches have no education like wizards, so we have to teach each other. If you'd still like to sleep, then take a spare blanket and pillow and sleep next to a tree. Nature will guide your mana. You should practice the spell Dancing Leaves while you're there. Don't just waste your time sleeping; you'll sleep the whole day away if you rest now."

Isabell squats, picking at her nails. Her skin is dry from the soap and water.

"When I was a young witch, all I wanted to do was use big spells, but I learned that the meticulous stuff is the hardest thing to do, so I trained it until I was an expert at it. How could you continue to fail at this? I sent a letter to Bixie and she also said that it's a lack of patience and effort. I know you can be meticulous, you've done it before. Just keep doing it until you never mess it up again."

She has been doing that.

"You keep using your hand movements but you should really be using the motion of your mind. Bixie sent a letter to Claudia who met with her brother who knows a wizard at the college, and all the wizards there use physical motion to enact real spells, not the simple stuff like levitation. You should try putting your mind to it. Then maybe you can be more delicate and stop shaking the plates all the time."

Isabell considers that idea.

"Believe me, I want you to be a good witch. You're a beautiful young woman, you should be married at this age but you're stuck in this mansion. You're lucky the master is so forgiving- I would've been thrown out for losing a spoon, but you blew up your room and broke a whole cabinet of plates. That should've put you in the masters debt for life but he forgave it. He's always been nice to girls with blue eyes but he's too much. Not that I wish you'd been thrown out, dear, I'm very grateful that you're still here. You remind me of my late sister. She died before getting married, poor girl, she was too young. That cannot happen to you, hear me? I'll have you fit to live in society by your birthday. You'll have suitors lining up at your door, believe me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Author's Note

Help. Okay specifically how was the magic scene? I'm practicing how to describe magic and it's weird. How is it? Advice? Yes I cut the scene short, there's more to it, but I didn't want to publish too many words since there's a lot. Should I change Isabell's name?