Page 59 of Wedded Witch
“All clear,” he says, his voice casual. “You should go explore, we’ll wait down here.”
Sol steps into the room, nodding in agreement, and before I can respond, he leans down, pressing a kiss to my cheek, his lips warm and soft against my skin.
“Go on, then,” he murmurs with a smirk.
Kel isn’t far behind. His kiss lands on the other side of my face, a little more lingering, a little less playful. My breath hitches for a moment, caught between them, and I try not to let it show on my face.
Then there’s Ri. He stands a little further back, watching. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me too, but he hesitates. His eyes meet mine, something flickering in them that I can’t quite place.
Instead of stepping closer, he tilts his head slightly, his lips pressing together in a thin line. The tension in the room becomes something palpable, heavy between us.
I wait, heart pounding for some reason I can’t explain, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t close the distance. The moment passes, and he looks away, stepping back into the kitchen as if nothing happened.
There’s a strange pang of disappointment in my chest, but I brush it aside. Now isn’t the time to dwell on it. There are more important things at hand.
Like the secrets this house is keeping from me.
“Alright,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I’m feeling. “I’ll go take a look upstairs.”
They all nod, and I turn towards the staircase, feeling their eyes on me as I leave.
The staircase creaks beneath my feet as I make my way up to the next floor. The old wood groans with each step, but it feels sturdy—solid, as if the house itself is rooted deep into the ground, weathering everything that’s come and gone.
Dust floats in the shafts of light filtering through the tall windows lining the landing, and I can smell the faint scent of age and wood, mixed with something else—magic, still pulsing beneath the surface like a heartbeat.
The second-floor hallway stretches out before me, lined with doors on either side. I push open the first one I come to, my hand hesitating briefly on the handle.
The room is large, bathed in muted light. A bedroom, clearly. The four-poster bed still has its tattered canopy, a rich burgundy fabric that’s faded to a dull red over the years.
The bedspread is thick with dust, and a wardrobe stands against one wall, its door ajar. I cross the room, trailing my fingers along the bed’s carved frame, and glance inside the wardrobe.
Old dresses hang there, draped in time, preserved like relics of the past. Some of them are elegant, fine materials woven with intricate designs.
It makes me wonder who lived here last. My ancestors, of course, but who exactly? And why did they leave?
I close the wardrobe and move to the vanity by the window. There’s a mirror, tarnished with age, but it reflects my face well enough. I catch a glimpse of my eyes, and for a moment, I almost feel like someone else is staring back at me—someone older, wiser, with secrets I have yet to uncover.
With a sigh, I turn away from the room, closing the door softly behind me, and move to the next.
The second bedroom is much the same—smaller, simpler, but no less significant. A child’s room. There are faded drawings on the walls, stick figures that look like they’ve been drawn by a young hand.
It’s strange, seeing something so innocent in a house that feels so weighted with the past. The bed here is smaller, and there’s a rocking horse in the corner, its paint chipped but the form still intact.
I run my fingers over the wood, feeling another pulse of magic through the grain. Whoever lived here, they were protected by this house, just as I am now.
I close the door behind me again, heart heavy with a strange kind of longing. It feels like I’m walking through the ghosts of my family—walking in their footsteps, but not quite belonging.
As I continue down the hall, I come to the third door, which leads into a study. This one feels different, more personal. The desk in the centre of the room is cluttered with old papers, books, and quills.
I step inside, picking up one of the books. It’s a journal, though the writing is faded. I squint, trying to make out the words, but they’re too far gone.
Still, I can feel the magic woven into the leather of the cover, ancient and powerful.
This room holds more weight than the others. It feels like decisions were made here—important ones. There’s a map pinned to the wall, and I move closer to inspect it.
It’s a detailed drawing of Spells Hollow, much like the map Kel showed me earlier, but older. There are markings on it, circles and runes sketched along the borders.
I trace my fingers over the lines, trying to make sense of it. What were they trying to protect?