8. Once A Witch

Once A Witch

Nope, Just A Bitch.

T he school assembly is the last place I want to be right now. A sea of students shuffle in like mindless sheep, herded into the auditorium for yet another boring speech about school spirit or whatever other nonsense the administration thinks we care about. The smell of wet coats and cheap cafeteria food lingers in the air, making the whole place feel like a well-dressed version of a cattle pen.

I sit down in the middle of the row, Sam on one side of me and Derek on the other, which is... strange. Normally they sit together, playing the cute couple routine, but not today. Clearly something's up, but I don't have the energy or patience to care right now. I've got bigger problems to deal with—like how someone stole my spells and passed them around the school like cheap candy.

I glance around at the rest of the student body. It's a who's-who of magical creatures and wannabe spellcasters. The fae are clustered in their own corner, probably plotting their next prank. The shifters, as usual, are lounging in the back like they're too cool for this whole thing, which, honestly, they might be. Meanwhile, the witches are scattered throughout, whispering to each other, no doubt exchanging gossip and judging everyone within a ten-foot radius. It's like a magical zoo, except I'm the one trapped inside.

The principal steps up to the podium, his voice already droning on before he's even properly started. He's one of those guys who thinks he's inspiring, but he couldn't hold the attention of a houseplant. I tune him out for most of it, trying to focus on what I'll say to Professor Malakar after this joke of an assembly. I'll show her the spell Sebastian gave me—the proof that my work is being stolen—and she'll have to believe me. There's no way she can brush me off now.

But then the principal says something that snaps my attention back to the front of the room.

"And we're especially excited to see the wonderful range of spells the witches have turned in this year," he says, beaming like a proud parent. "In fact, we're pleased to announce that one of these collections will be turned into a book and placed in the school library as a tome for future young witches to draw inspiration from."

My stomach churns. What the hell?

He continues, oblivious to the fact that my entire world is starting to tilt. "We've seen some truly remarkable work—spells with quirky and creative names like the Aura Disruption Hex and No-Slip Glamour ."

My heart stops. No. No way.

Those are my spells. My names. I grip the edge of my seat, my nails digging into the fabric. The room feels like it's closing in on me, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

"And we'd like to congratulate Kyla for her outstanding contribution," the principal says, smiling out at the crowd. "Her grimoire will be immortalized as a part of our school's magical history."

I nearly vomit right there.

Kyla? Kyla is being congratulated for my spells? My work wasn't just erased. It wasn't just taken. It wasn't just passed around. It's been stolen —with her name slapped on it, like I never existed. Like everything I've worked for means nothing.

The words echo in my mind, but I can't make sense of them. My entire life's work—gone, taken from me, and now everyone thinks it belongs to Kyla. The girl who can barely manage basic spells in class is being celebrated for my magic. I want to scream. I want to stand up, flip this entire auditorium upside down, and let everyone know exactly what's going on. But I can't. I physically can't.

There's an enchantment on the hall, put there by the teachers to prevent students from talking during assemblies. And right now, it feels like a gag, keeping me from lashing out. My throat burns with the words I can't say, my body trembling as the realization crashes over me.

I feel Derek's hand gently tap the outer side of my thigh, a subtle gesture, but enough to break through my haze of panic. His eyes flick to mine, and I can see it in his expression—he knows something is wrong. Really wrong. But he doesn't push. He just stays close, his hand a quiet reminder that I'm not alone.

But it doesn't matter. Nothing does. Not when everything I've worked for, everything I've poured my heart into, has been stolen from me.

I sit there, shaking, staring straight ahead as the principal continues his speech, oblivious to the fact that my entire world is crumbling around me.

I barely make it back to my dorm before the pressure inside me explodes. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I kick it—hard. The dull thud reverberates through the room, but it's not enough. I kick it again. And again. My foot slams into the door over and over, the pain shooting up my leg doing nothing to stop the rage spiraling inside me. Each kick is a scream I can't let out, a cry for the injustice that just unfolded in front of the whole school.

Kyla. My grimoire. My life's work.

I turn back to my desk, where bottles of potion ingredients, herbs, and unfinished spell scrolls sit scattered in chaotic disarray. My fingers twitch with fury as I grab the first thing I see—a vial of something amber-colored—and hurl it against the wall. It shatters, splattering its contents everywhere, but I don't care. The next thing goes flying—an old textbook, then a bundle of herbs, then a candle. Everything comes crashing down, my frustration spilling out with each item I throw.

And then it all hits at once. I can't breathe. The weight of everything crashes over me, and before I know it, I'm crumpling to the floor, tears streaming down my face. The sobs come hard and fast, shaking my whole body as I cling to the edge of the desk.

Why? Why me?

I've followed every rule. I've worked so hard, waited so patiently for my time to come. I've drawn inside every line they told me to. I didn't ask for more than what was mine. But it didn't matter. Kyla took everything, and now they're all celebrating her, while I'm left to drown in this endless, overwhelming pain. It's like fire in my veins, burning hotter with every breath. It's in my head, twisting and turning like some sick, never-ending game that I've already lost.

I try to stop myself from crying, but it's no use. My world is breaking, shattering like glass, and there's no way to piece it back together.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my spiral, and I freeze, my breath catching. I quickly wipe my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown. "Who is it?"

"It's Derek," comes the voice from the other side. I don't move at first, but then, with a shaky breath, I force myself to stand. I walk to the door and unlock it, pulling it open just enough to let him in. His eyes scan my face the second he steps inside, and I can see the concern written all over him. "You went completely pale during the assembly," he says, his voice softer than usual. "What's going on?"

"I'm always pale," I mutter, trying to deflect with sarcasm, but it comes out weak, hollow.

He doesn't buy it. He steps closer, and before I can stop him, he takes my face in his hands, wiping away the remnants of my tears with his thumbs. "Zaria, enough with the walls. I don't want sass right now. I just want to know if you're okay."

I close my eyes for a second, trying to hold it together, but his touch, his words—they make it harder. "No," I whisper. "I'm not okay. After what the principal said… I'm sure of it now. Kyla stole my grimoire. It wasn't just erased—it was taken. She's claiming my spells as hers."

His grip on my face tightens slightly, his jaw tensing. "Then we'll get it back. We'll prove it's yours and take it to Professor Malakar. You just need—"

"I'm past that," I snap, stepping back from him, out of his reach. "This isn't about proving anything anymore." I cross the room, my eyes landing on the fake grimoire lying on the floor where I threw it earlier. I pick it up, staring at the blank pages with disgust. "I'm going to redo it. My grimoire. But this time, it's not going to be filled with spells for just anything."

Derek narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

I clutch the book tighter, my fingers digging into the spine. "This time, it's going to be filled with spells focused on one thing and one thing only."

His brow furrows, his voice low. "Zaria… what are you talking about?"

I turn to face him, my eyes cold, burning with the fury I've been holding back. "Revenge." The word hangs in the air like a curse, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. But the fire inside me rages on, fueling the darkness that's been building ever since the assembly. This is it. This is where I draw the line. I'm done being nice, done waiting, done following the rules like a perfect little witch. Kyla took everything from me, and now… now she's going to know what it feels like to have everything ripped away.

The world's already shattered. So why not burn what's left?

Derek's voice cuts through my thoughts, soft but steady. "Zaria… are you sure that's what you want? Revenge?"

I meet his gaze, unflinching. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. But she started it. Now, I'm going to finish it." I turn away from him, flipping open the blank grimoire, my mind already racing with ideas. The spells will be perfect. They'll be crafted with precision, fueled by the anger that's boiling in my blood. Kyla's going to pay. And when I'm done, she'll regret the day she ever thought she could cross me.

I hear Derek take a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "And what happens when it's over?"

I glance over my shoulder, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "When it's over? She'll wish she never stole from me."

His silence is answer enough. I don't need his approval, or anyone else's. I've made up my mind.

This isn't about justice anymore.

It's about retribution .