We curled up next to each other, the summer night air humid with a hint of a chill, and finished the season just as the sun peeked over the horizon.
* * *
Sage
When it came to meeting your familiar, there were several approaches for deciding what to wear.
The oldest tradition called for nothing but a cloak, given to the familiar as their first garment, while the witch remained bare to symbolize their rebirth into the third cycle of their life.
The idea to bring something for your familiar remained, but many witches had opted out of the nudity as time passed. Young witches wore unisex dress robes when they received their cauldron, so that was one option to express continuity between the sacraments.
Others, however, went full, witchy glam, with gossamer gowns or tailored suits, woven with delicate spiderweb designs and crowns made of flowers and bones.
Growing up, I’d wanted something elegant, but after the date for the ceremony was set, I’d thought about wearing something that covered me head to toe, worried my scars would be too difficult for my familiar to look at.
Thankfully, Ronan had convinced otherwise, encouraging me to embrace them, to show my familiar exactly who I was and what I’d survived.
If they rejected me, then they weren’t worthy to begin with.
Oh Hecara, I hoped they wouldn’t reject me.
I spent the whole day at the witch spa, undergoing a series of special preparations for the ceremony.
They used to be done at home with your parents or other witch elders, rituals passed down like family heirlooms.
Now, you scheduled an appointment online and made sure to leave a tip.
First was the herb smoke cleansing. I tossed the bundle of mugwort, bay leaf, juniper, and rosemary into the fire of a small room. Sparks flew, and the air became thick with the medicinal smoke as I sat on the tiered wooden bench in my towel, the magic coaxing toxins and negative energy from my pores with my sweat.
I wasn’t too sure about the toxins, but I was definitely a sweaty mess by the end of it.
Next was a bath, which after the smoke cleanse would sound perfect, only it was filled with goat’s milk and rose petals.
It smelled even worse than I’d imagined, but following the salt and ash rinse that took place immediately afterwards, my skin looked better than it had in years, scars and all.
The last step involved the priestess. I stood naked in a small sanctum, arms out and legs spread, while she chanted in old Lundarian, drawing runes on my bare skin in moonwater symbolizing joining, bonding, and reclamation.
For that was what a witch-familiar bond really culminated in—a reunion of souls, separated at birth.
It was different from the mate bond I had with Ronan. Ronan was my best friend and my lover. My biggest supporter and my protector.
But a familiar bond was like finding your missing half. A long-lost twin—still their own being, but so much like you, you both might as well have been the same person.
A mate made me better. A familiar made meme.
And as much as Ronan was doing his best to fill the void, even as my mate, he never could. And I loved him for knowing that and still trying anyway.
I donned my floor-length green mulberry silk cloak. I’d heard it could be jarring for a familiar to wear fabric for the first time, and silk was the softest transition for their new skin.
Once I was ready, I joined the other witches going to the woods tonight. I knew I didn’t necessarily look any older than the rest of them, but I felt more than five years apart from the giddy, excited twenty-six-year-olds completing the rite with me.
A few recognized me from the news, whispering to their friends who turned their heads to stare, but between the statements from Ronan, Accalia, the Premier of Ignareth, and our move to Cindralis, my public image was thankfully not one of a heartless homewrecker, but of an unfortunate pawn caught up in a game way above my magic grade.
Someone coughed from behind me, and I turned around, bracing for a rude question.
I’d had a few Magiks come up and ask me for more of the sordid details of my experience, gossip-hungry jerks who couldn’t take the hint that the reason I hadn’t done any interviews was because I didn’t want to talk about it.
But it wasn’t a nosy stranger. It was a face I knew.
