When Maya arrived at Alba’s, she found Delali already on the stoop, scribbling in what looked like a notebook full of equations. Jesus. She’d always thought being famous must be cool, but Delali was quickly shattering that illusion. She basically was Georgia Simmons IRL. In the week since they met Alba, the only thing that had gotten Maya through dead Tinder dates and dreary hours in the CS office was the knowledge that she had secret magical powers that she’d soon be using to get the hell out of there. Well, that and post-work shots at The Bar. She didn’t know what exactly was on the other side, but it had to be better than her real life, and maybe when got there she could find some witch friends who weren’t such losers.
As she approached the stoop, Maya slipped her hand into the back pocket of her wide leg jeans, her fingertips plunging into the strange texture that was quickly becoming familiar, that liquid surface that somehow housed text. The sanction had come when she’d gotten back from the last session at Alba’s, scaring her shitless while she was removing her makeup in the bathroom. She’d planned to tell Delali and Gabbie about it, but as soon as she saw Delali on the stoop, she lost her nerve. It’s not that she was scared of Delali. Maya West wasn’t scared of anyone. She just knew Delali would have some over-the-top reaction about it—she was always taking shit way too seriously.
“Hey,” Maya said once she reached the steps.
“Hey.” Delali closed her notebook and put it in her backpack.
Maya checked her watch—it was 3:05, and Alba seemed like the kind of person who would be intense about lateness. But it wasn’t like they were going to go inside without all three of them there. After another minute of silence, Gabbie came trotting down the sidewalk in a teddy jacket, moccasins, and a flimsy denim skirt with buttons down the middle, an orange gift bag in each hand.
“Hey guys,” she called. “I made you both something,” she said when she reached them. “Just some themed baked goods and crafts. I know it’s a little early for Halloween, but isn’t it kinda fun that all of this witch stuff is happening in the fall?” Gabbie held the bags out, and Delali smiled despite herself.
“I guess fun is one way to describe it,” Maya said, taking her bag.
“You have a knitted headband, a homemade maple candle, and a mug-hugger marshmallow in the shape of a witch,” Gabbie said sheepishly. She also now had three videos for C&C.
“Thanks, Gabbie,” Delali said, before walking up the steps and hitting the buzzer. She loved a good candle, even if maple was a disgusting scent for a home.
“What the hell is a mug-hugger?” Maya muttered. “Sounds like a slur.”
* * *
“I’m glad you all decided to come,” Alba said, stepping aside to let the girls file into her apartment. She watched as they dutifully removed their shoes in the foyer. “I’d hoped you’d be here earlier than this,” she added, unable to resist.
“Oh, that was my fault,” Gabbie said. “I had to finish editing a video for TikTok. Some of those transitions are way harder than they look.”
“Right, yes,” Alba said as she led the girls into the living room. The girls made to sit on the couch, but Alba held out a hand to stop them. “Actually, girls, we’ll be working in the kitchen today.” The girls exchanged a look before following Alba. In the kitchen they found three shiny copper and stainless-steel cauldrons set up on the center island.
“Ooooh,” Gabbie said, and Alba triumphantly noted the wonder on Maya’s face.
“Brewing potions is one of the oldest forms of magic in our world,” Alba began, walking around the counter to face the girls. “They can be tough to master—making an effective potion requires extreme precision and diligence—but there are some essentials that every young witch should have in her arsenal, and I thought we’d spend our first lesson working on some of those.”
“What are they?” Delali asked.
“Simple things.” Alba wrapped herself in her longline cardigan as she spoke. “There’s a potion that cures aches and pains, which witches your age are apparently calling the hangover potion.” Alba paused to give the girls a wry smile. “One for clear mind and focus before a difficult task, one for courage, one to help you get to sleep, another for foolproof contraception. Hopefully, mastering these potions will help you better understand the role magic plays in the life of your average witch. And above all, making these potions will help you to start using your powers deliberately.”
Alba looked at each of the girls in turn, gauging their feelings. Delali had already folded up the sleeves of the corduroy work shirt she was wearing over a midriff-baring tee, and Gabbie was on tiptoe, peering into her empty cauldron. Maya’s look of wonder was still laced with skepticism.
“What’s the point of a pain potion or whatever if I can just take an Advil?” Maya asked. She’d been hanging back, a few paces behind the other girls, but now she stepped to the counter. She couldn’t deny the allure of a magical hangover cure.
“Immediacy,” said Alba. “No treatment from the typic world can be as effective as the Restoration Elixir in as short a span of time. Besides that, it’s a true panacea, assuming one doesn’t have a chronic issue. Headaches, nausea, dehydration, muscle soreness—a tablespoon of this and whatever’s ailing you is gone.”
“Even period cramps?” asked Gabbie.
“Of course,” Alba said.
“But how?” Maya asked, inspecting the shaker of garlic powder that had been placed at her station. “Are we just mixing things together?”
“Well, yes and no,” Alba said. “To make an effective potion, you must of course add the right amount of the right ingredients in the right order and at the right time, just like any other recipe. But a typic couldn’t just mix ground Cradle bark, a wisp of smoke from a crystal ball, and meringue powder and end up with a batch of Focus Draught. And truthfully, not every witch could.”
“What do you mean?” Delali asked. She cocked an eyebrow. “Our powers aren’t enough?” Alba hadn’t expected that Delali would be the one most drawn to magic. She didn’t know what to make of it yet, but she was intrigued by Delali’s warring curiosity and caution.
“In theory, yes, any witch can make an effective potion. But the real key to making magic work isn’t ability or training—” Alba broke off, leaning against the kitchen island. “It’s intent.”
“Meaning?”
Alba pushed off the marble countertop and clasped her hands, a new excitement rising in her. The science of intention was among her favorite things to discuss. Intention was one of the least understood parts of magic, and Alba had spent her youth studying it. It had always fascinated her, the way some of the most highly trained witches struggled to master elementary enchantments, while others merely needed to think of one to make it happen. “The science of intention is complicated, and it varies widely from witch to witch. But, simply put, you can do quite literally anything you put your mind to, so long as your intentions are sincere and you believe that you’re powerful enough.”
Maya snorted. Gabbie and Delali turned toward her sharply. “Sorry,” Maya said. “She basically just told us ‘if you can dream it, you can do it.’ What is this, a Disney Channel original?”
Alba gave Maya a measured smile. “I have to say, your disbelief is amusing to me.”
“Oh,” Maya said flippantly. “Is it?”
“Yes,” said Alba. “Because I’m not sure I’ve seen a witch with a more natural grasp of intention than you.”
Maya masked her surprise with a scoff.
“I’m serious. Think of the first time your powers manifested. What did you think?”
“I just wanted to stop my phone from falling down the drain,” Maya said. “We all did,” she added, looking to Gabbie and Delali. “Didn’t we?”
“Okay,” Alba said. “Let’s say that’s the case. But then the next time, when you used your Imitation ability, when you turned into that construction worker on the street. What were you thinking about then?”
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “I just thought that I wanted to be a man for a second . . . to not be noticed—”
“Refilling the drinks at the restaurant?” Alba continued. “Of course, you didn’t know you could do those things—but on some level, you did. Maya, you’re a natural. With the proper training . . .” Alba paused, carefully choosing her words. “It’s impossible to tell how powerful the three of you could be.” Alba held Maya’s gaze for a long moment before Maya finally looked away, turning her eyes to the stack of tiny rings on her middle finger.
“Really?” Gabbie asked excitedly. “Do you think we could learn how to be Seers?” She was still fantasizing about having a crystal ball on her classroom desk.
“Oh, no, dear,” Alba responded, amused. “Seeing is a named power, like you Influencing, or Delali’s Mindreading or Maya’s Imitating. Those abilities are innate and cannot be learned.”
Delali was about to ask how Alba knew each of their powers, but then stopped herself. Probably the same way she knew their names and where they were having brunch last Sunday.
“Now,” Alba said. “Intention can’t be taught, per se, but part of my role is to help you access yours as best you can, and to get you acquainted with the reach of your powers. As I hope you all know from our previous meeting, I’m prepared to take my role in your development seriously.” She let the words sink in before clapping sharply, relishing the way the girls jumped at the noise. “Now that that’s been said, let’s begin. The first thing you need to know about potions is that each has a liquid base. That base is water, but not the sort you get from a tap or a grocery store. The water must come from hail.”
“Hail?” Maya asked.
“Yes,” Alba said. “Hail. Hail is the most sacred form of water in the Witch Sphere, and it’s been that way for as long as there has been magic. It’s unheard of to walk into a normal witch household and not find at least three bags of hail on hand. Without hail, brewing an effective potion is impossible. You can find it in any Sphere grocery store.” Alba walked over to a deep freezer that sat in the corner of the kitchen and pulled out three iridescent plastic bags. They glowed pinkish purple in the kitchen light, all filled to the brim with jagged, rocky balls, some the size of navel oranges. Gabbie touched one, wondering if she could keep the bag for her crafting projects. She’d never seen such a delicate shimmer.
“Do you need a special freezer for hail?” Gabbie asked.
Alba wrinkled her face in confusion. “No, dear. It freezes like any ice in the typic world. Of course, in the Sphere, items retain their desired temperature without the intervention of freezers, microwaves, central heating, et cetera. In the typic world it’s a different story.”
“Oh,” Gabbie said. “I only asked because you have two freezers.” She pointed the regular freezer that was built into Alba’s fridge.
“Ah,” Alba said. “No, I just like to have a lot of hail on hand. It helps reduce grocery trips in the Sphere.”
Alba placed the bags on the counter, one in front of each girl.
“When brewing a potion, it’s extremely important that the hail is melted using the heat of a fire. You cannot use an electric stove or defrost your hail to room temperature in preparation for brewing. Going from freezer to fire is essential.”
The girls nodded.
“The Restoration Elixir calls for medium heat and four lumps of hail as the base.”
The girls didn’t move.
“Go ahead,” Alba urged. They looked to each other before, finally, Delali turned the knob of the burner beneath her cauldron. Gabbie followed. When Maya remained still, Delali turned to her to give her a prodding look, but Maya didn’t meet it—she was staring intently at the bottom of her cauldron. A flame leapt up under the pot.
“Good,” Alba said, smiling at Maya. “Fantastic. When brewing potions, you must be extremely precise—relying on your personal interpretation of ‘medium heat’ won’t cut it. Measuring the flame through magic is the only way to go.”
Delali and Gabbie straightened. They each turned their stoves off manually, then willed a fire to life beneath their cauldrons. Maya didn’t wait for instruction on the hail, pulling her bag open and removing a ball with her hands When it touched the bottom of her cauldron, the hail began to hiss and crackle, releasing haunting wails that grew louder as the ice shrunk away and the water rose. “What the hell?” Maya stepped back from the counter.
“That’s normal,” Alba said, looking approvingly over Maya’s cauldron. “That’s exactly what you want to hear.”
At this, Maya placed three more lumps in her cauldron. She looked to Alba, who nodded, and Gabbie and Delali quickly followed, opening their bags and tentatively placing the hail in their cauldrons. The apartment filled with sickening sobs and moans, growing to a crescendo before quieting suddenly.
“Okay,” Maya said. “So I guess I can’t do this when my roommates are home.”
“If you wait just one moment . . .” Alba held her finger in the air, and soon the pots started humming, a jaunty, tinkling melody in a bright, feathery tone. Puffs of pastel-colored smoke rose from the liquid. “Now you’ve reached ideal potion-brewing temperature.”
The girls looked at each other, unable to keep the giddy smiles off their faces.
“What else do we need to put in?” Gabbie asked eagerly.
“The next most important ingredient in the Restoration Elixir is a level teaspoon of dried basil. Funny, I know, but not a step you can skip.” Alba unscrewed the cap on a jar of expensive-looking basil and placed it in front of the girls. Each one used magic to level her spoon, remembering Alba’s instructions on the fire.
“Good,” Alba said. They added the basil and the volume of the humming increased, now a calmer, more assured melody. Almost as if the earlier song had aged.
The girls then added xanthan gum, distilled Cradle sap, and crushed poppy seeds into the mixture, delighted by each change in the potion’s sound or the color of its smoke. When the final ingredient had been added, they looked to Alba expectantly.
“The cooking time for a potion is variable—once all the ingredients have been added, there’s nothing you can do to bring the brewing process to an end. Every potion has an estimated finishing time, but a potion is finished when it’s finished, and we have no real say in how long the brewing will take. Luckily, it’s exceedingly rare for a potion of any sort to take more than twenty-four hours to brew to completion.”
“A full day?” Maya said at the same time Delali asked, “How do you know when it’s finished?”
“Don’t worry,” Alba said, “Restoration Elixir is typically finished within ten minutes of the addition of the final ingredient. You will know when you know.”
They all waited anxiously for a few minutes, hardly taking their eyes off the simmering liquids. Then the smoke began to rise at disorienting speed, careening toward the ceiling, crashing into it, and spreading over the apartment. After several seconds of this, there was a loud bang, and a flash of light filled the kitchen. When it disappeared, the smoke and fire were gone, and the potions no longer bubbled. Instead, they were still, thick pools of cobalt liquid collected at the bottom of their pots. The room smelled like burnt sugar.
Alba looked into Gabbie’s cauldron. “Gorgeous,” she said simply. “It looks store-bought.”
“Can we try it?” Gabbie asked.
“Please,” Alba said.
One by one, the girls stained their fingers with the blue sludge. It tasted like nothing, but the effect was immediate. Maya felt the soreness from her last reformer class disappear. Delali’s internal monologue quieted. Gabbie’s cramps halted, and when she reached for her chin, the pimple that had been growing there since Friday had returned to a smooth patch of skin. There was a general buzz of good feeling too, something quiet and gentle, more like a runner’s high than, well, a high high.
The girls looked at each other and laughed, warmed by the Elixir. “Can we do more?” Maya asked Alba, eyeing the ingredients they hadn’t used yet.
Alba smiled. “That’s the plan.”
A few hours later, with Alba’s guidance, the girls had successfully brewed the six potions she’d mentioned as the must-haves for any witch: Focus Draught, Restoration Elixir, Soothing Solution, Daring Draught, Energy Ale, and Slumber Serum. As they poured their batches of Slumber Serum into small glass vials, careful not to spill any of the dark amber liquid onto the countertop, Alba crossed her arms, savoring the rising sense of accomplishment. She’d been right: Maya was a natural. No matter how coarsely she chopped her garlic or how imprecise she was with her timing, it seemed she could do no wrong. Delali had the precision of a surgeon, and, as a result, produced the potions of a professional, and Gabbie was, as Alba had expected, sure of herself in a quiet way, a fast learner who had neither Maya’s natural grasp of intent nor Delali’s exactitude, but still performed. She had been right that day in the restaurant. She had found them; she just wasn’t quite sure who they were yet.
Alba turned to the sink to wash her hands. “Oh my god,” she heard Gabbie whisper behind her. “That was amazing.” Alba smiled to herself, then suddenly felt her mouth slacken. For a split second, she was paralyzed as a string of disjointed images moved through her head. A flash of dark, lustrous silk; high staccato laughter; twinkling lights suspended in midair; a low hiss, unlike any sound that could come from a human being. Alba grasped the counter to steady herself—she often lost her balance when she had a vision, but in recent years the phenomenon had become particularly forceful. She closed her eyes against the vertigo, opening them again when she heard Gabbie speaking to her.
“Alba?” Gabbie said. It didn’t sound like the first time she’d said it.
“Sorry, dear.” Alba grabbed a kitchen towel to dry her hands, taking the moment to get her bearings before she turned to face the girls. “Come. Let’s go to the living room so you all can get your things.” She waved for them to follow her. The vision had sapped her of energy, and she needed to sit.
“I was just asking what kinds of things we’ll be doing in our other lessons,” Gabbie said. She took her jacket from a hook by the door. “Like, will we be learning more stuff about our specific powers—”
“Named powers,” Delali said.
“Or will it be more spells and, like, jinxes, and stuff? I just wanted to ask, you know, one educator to another—lesson plan structure is so important.”
“A mixture of both,” Alba said, lowering herself slowly onto the arm of the couch. “The only goal is that when we reach the end of your training, you can complete your final task without issue. You’ll be learning about your powers—strengthening them, honing your abilities—certainly. Learning about the Sphere, too. But spells . . .” Alba’s vision had sent the gears in her head spinning, too quickly for her to maintain her train of thought. “They’re not as common as they used to be, but I’ll teach you some if you’d like. Here.”
Alba stood again, walked slowly to her bookshelf, and pulled out three baseball-sized spheres, which looked to be made of glass. She dropped one in each girl’s palm, and they felt that the balls were actually weightless.
“This is a metric,” Alba explained. “It’s used to measure your progress in your training. Each time you use your powers successfully, the metric will darken a shade. When the metric reaches its darkest shade, I’ll be made aware of your final assignment, the assignment you’ll need to pass in order to transport freely and become fully functioning members of the Witch Sphere.”
“And what if we don’t want to do the assignment?” Maya asked.
“If you fail to complete your assignment, the metric will return to its current color, your grasp on your powers will return to their original, uncontrolled state, and you’ll have to start again if you wish to master them.”
Alba pulled three slim pamphlets with maroon covers from her shelf. She handed one to each girl, and as they touched them, words bloomed across the covers in delicate gold script: “Lessons.” In the bottom right corner, the words “Archive of the Sphere” were written in a stout serif font.
“In this first book you’ll find six lessons. Please read Lesson One before our next meeting.” Alba led the girls to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry to have you leave so unceremoniously, but I’m afraid our lesson ends here. You’ve all performed tremendously well today. I’ll see you next week.”
In the elevator down from Alba’s apartment, Delali couldn’t stop looking at the little glass bottles in her bag. She watched the liquids swirl around inside them, some thick and opaque, others watery and transparent, others veined with threads of white. Meeting Alba at the park had clarified things for her, but she realized that she hadn’t totally come to terms with what it meant to be a witch until she’d brewed an actual potion in a literal cauldron.
“Okay,” Maya said as they exited the lobby of Alba’s building. “That was actually pretty cool.” While bottling her Soothing Solution, Maya had dipped her finger into the cauldron and tasted it. Now a bleary-eyed calm had settled over her, and she felt like she’d just taken a hit of the best indica she’d ever had.
“Yeah, totally,” Delali said, digging her phone out of her purse. Of course Maya was interested in their powers now that Alba had gassed her up beyond what Delali believed was ethical. “Well, I’m gonna be late,” she said, neglecting to specify what for. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to debrief; it was that the unopened lesson book was begging for her attention. She needed to sit and read without the interruption of Gabbie and Maya.
Gabbie glanced at her watch. “Same, actually. FaceTime with Dan.”
“Yeah, I’m busy too,” Maya said, feigning nonchalance. She fiddled with the zipper of her Moncler puffer. She’d been hoping for a more substantial debrief, maybe even a Tompkins sesh, and not just because it was close to her apartment. They all currently had six magic fucking potions in their possession. She thought that required some discussion, but she wasn’t going to push it. They’d see each other soon enough anyway. “Well,” she said, pulling out her phone to call a car. “See you next week.”
Delali waved over her shoulder, already turning to head toward the 116th stop. She jogged down the steps—she knew she should’ve waited for Gabbie, but they were going in opposite directions, and she didn’t have the patience for her Pollyanna-ing right now. Once she was safely on the 1, she pulled the handbook out of her bag and inspected it. The cover stayed blank now, despite her touch, and she flipped the book open to read. The pages were waxy and thin, smelling ambiently of cinnamon, and Delali skipped around to the parts that interested her, knowing full well she’d read every page and footnote as soon as she had the chance.
Contents:
Lesson 1
Introduction to the Sphere
The Council
Current Events & Political Composition
The Myth of the Mothers
Lesson 2
Customs of the Sphere
Holidays
Agreed-Upon Behaviors
Biographies of Notable Persons
Lesson 3
Principles of Magic
Understanding Atmospheric Magic
Understanding Bodily Magic
Lesson 4
Principles of Direct Magic
Principles of Spellcasting
Understanding Named Powers
Sample Spells for Annotation
Lesson 5
Essential Potions for Modern Witches
Essential Spells for Modern Witches
Essential Direct Magic Competencies for Modern Witches
Lesson 6
Principles of Transportation (General/Intraworld)
Principles of Transportation (Interworld)
Appendices:
Map of the Sphere
Images
Diagrams & Charts
Glossary
introduction to the sphere
The Witch Sphere has a population of nine hundred million witches, who live in a mixture of cities and suburban areas. The center of the Sphere is 33,26 (40.7263, -73.9817TW) where both the Cradle and the Regent’s home (often referred to simply as 33,26) are sited. The Witch Sphere came into existence at the hands of the Mothers and is governed by the Council.
the council
The Council is a body populated by sixteen of the most important members of the Witch Sphere. The Regent sits at the head.
The Council always holds positions for: two representatives of the WHO, who are considered guardians of the Sphere’s well-being; a minimum of three Seers, witches born with the relatively rare ability to see the future with up to 80 percent accuracy; two Healers, witches born with the relatively rare ability to heal wounds and illness through direct magic; two members of the Shrouded Vow Taskforce (SVT), the team that works to protect the secrecy of the Sphere; and the Executioner. At least one such SVT member, typically the Head, should be a Shapeshifter, a witch born with the relatively rare ability to mimic the form of any animal species. A handful of witches hold unspecified positions, taking on responsibilities that change according to the needs of the time.
Each Councilmember is appointed by her predecessor.
The positioe n of Regency is handed down to the firstborn daughter of the existing Regent.
Only two positions on the Council are explicitly inherited: the Regent and the Executioner.
The Council may, in times of great need, appoint adjunct or junior members.
As she switched trains at 96th, dodging a bunch of rowdy youths, Delali skipped to the appendix to look at the Council chart.
On the 3 train, she flipped back to Lesson 1.
current events & political composition
The Witch Sphere endured its first ever political event in the Shatter, which occurred in 1983, only six months after the ascendance of Regent Violet III at the age of twenty-two. Before this event, the Sphere had not encountered meaningful discontent, illness, or strife of any sort. Scholars attributed this to the Sphere’s unique access to infinite amounts of every resource required for living, and to the commitment amongst all witches to maintaining a balance of the three faculties (Love of Others, Love of Self, and Love of Knowledge). Before the Shatter, the Council was famously described as “a glorified party-planning committee” by historian Emerfa Dunn (Ungovernable People: A History of Political Bodies in the Sphere, 1922). The passing of Agreed-Upon Behaviors (AUB) in year 100 was a formality that enshrined already-standard behaviors. Disobeying the AUB carries no threat of punishment.
the shatter
On the night of the Shatter, Macy-Jo Watson, a witch now known as the Betrayer, attempted to foment political instability as a pretense for a coup, aiming to take the throne from newly ascendent Violet III. The Betrayer shattered the vessel that held the magic of the Mothers, causing the magic to escape into the atmosphere. The Betrayer was ordered to be Executed by Natasha Nox, the reigning Executioner, and exiled from the Sphere. The Execution was only the second in the history of the Sphere. Shortly following the episode, some witches began giving birth to babies who did not have magical powers. This phenomenon is now termed the Typic Crisis. The WHO is currently working to solve the Crisis.
The event of the Shatter pointed to what scholars now understand to be the two primary flaws in the design of the Sphere: the inborn difference in talent between witches and the necessity of a leader, however nominal her privilege, in administering an organized society.
Despite the Crisis, the Witch Sphere maintains a happiness rate of 81 percent, and 75 percent of witches choose to live in the Sphere over the typic world, citing the essential goodness of witches; general ease of Sphere life; sense of community; and captivating environs of the Sphere as their primary reasons. Scholars project that an end to the Crisis would return the Sphere to its pre-Crisis happiness rate of 99.99 percent.
Then Delali looked at the holidays.
Holidays
the gathering
The Gathering is the most significant holiday in the Sphere and is celebrated by all witches. Held on the last Saturday of May each year, the Gathering takes place on the grounds of 33,26.
Some have come to see the Gathering as a way of honoring the Mothers. However, formally, the Gathering is simply a celebration of celebration. The event includes food, drink, potions, dance, games, and live performances, and in the post-Shatter era, an Appeal to the Mothers led by the Council.
Auxiliary events have emerged around the Gathering, such as the Annual Accreditation Event for newly developed potions and Sphere Fashion Week. The significance of the event has grown over the centuries such that it now marks the start of the new Spherical Year.
Due to the constraints of the property, only a fraction of the witch population is invited to the Gathering proper each year, and selection is conducted by lottery. However, witches Gather all over the Sphere on the night of the Gathering. No witch may be formally excluded from the Gathering lottery.
winter holiday
Winter Holiday was established in 1943 at the urging of a coalition of witches who had recently married and assimilated typic partners.
And then, she read the Myth of the Mothers.
the myth of the mothers
Before there was magic, there were the Mothers. Three women, keepers of all the world’s potential. The Mothers did not create the world. They only gathered it together. For a time much longer than we can know, and with a diligence beyond our worldly grasp, the Mothers arranged the elements they believed would nourish our kind. As their compass, they used a singular intent, an intent as pure and crystalline as the sky’s first bud of hail. An intent to build the perfect world.
The Mothers assembled and deconstructed; composed and decomposed; created and dissolved. There was no matter beyond their use. Fragments of the cosmos, energy of the sky, tinder of the stars—they drew all together to set their beloved universe into motion. Yet when they finished their work, when they remarked upon their creation, they saw that something was missing. The Mothers considered, and each resolved to contribute all she had left to offer.
The first Mother reflected, and to our world she added Love of Self. The second Mother reflected, and to our world she added Love of Others. The third Mother reflected, and to our world she added Love of Knowledge. The Mothers knew then that they had no more to give. So they retreated from their work, and they held each other closely, and they watched what they had made. There was an infinite pause as they waited, and then their conception howled. It shook violently and before the Mothers, there hatched a new world.
In its center, the Cradle grew, and the Cradle was the anchor of the world. As the Cradle flourished, so did our kind. Witches bore witches, and loved witches, and depended upon witches, and dedicated themselves to a world that would nurture witches. The roots of the Cradle grew deeper and wider. And the branches of the Cradle grew taller and stronger still. Our evolution thrilled the Mothers, but it also foreshadowed what they had known all along. Soon the world would no longer need them. Their time was coming to an end.
So the Mothers began to search. They sought a witch, native to this new world, whom they could entrust with the power of absence. The power to take away the very gifts the Mothers had bestowed. The search transcended seasons, but the Mothers were steadfast. The witch who should bear this responsibility must be a rare witch. In time, and in their infinite wisdom, the Mothers found her. The witch who so loved her kind that she could never use this power to injure. She could only use it to heal. The Mothers gave the power of absence to this witch and to her lineage. And she was to be the Executioner.
The Executioner climbed to the highest point of our world. She lifted her face to the sky, and when she did, the dark ceiling above her shook and swayed. A wall of light closed in around her, and in an instant, this wall cleaved into three glowing pillars. Vibrating with all life, it was the Mothers before her.
The Executioner lifted her arm to them, and the first Mother came forth. She fell like hail into the Executioner’s open palm, then down her outstretched arm, and into the vessel. The second Mother came forth, and she too fell like hail into the Executioner’s hand, down her arm, and into the vessel. Finally, the third came forth, and like hail she fell into the Executioner’s hand, down her arm, and into the vessel.
Then the essences of the Mothers were altogether contained in this single vessel, absent from the world over.
From then, the vessel containing the magic of the Mothers was kept at 33,26, the headquarters of the Witch Sphere. This magic, believed to be the oldest and most powerful in the world, was considered sacred, holy, and never to be touched.