Rosalie at the Collegium of Pagan Witchcraft: Year 1

Chapter 1

The Orphanage For Homeless Wiccans

Plymouth, June 1939

Rosalie Medley woke up in complete silence. The dim light that managed to enter her small room at the Orphanage for Homeless Wiccans, let her see a pile of ashes in place of her alarm clock. She sat up with a gasp, bringing both hands to her chest, and trying to control her nervousness, as she looked at the ashes.

She counted to three and checked if there was any magical signature coming from the pile. There wasn't, she realized, relieved. She got up from the bed, glad she had managed to keep her magic in control. The other children living at the orphanage didn't like her very much, and these little pranks were common enough to keep her vigilant at all times.

It was the main reason why she decided against participating in any activity together, and was planning to enjoy her free summer time outside, alone.

When she cleaned the ashes away, she noticed that the clock was lying on the floor, next to the nightstand, broken. She sighed to herself and walked up to the door. Obviously, it was unlocked. The other kids must have sneaked in while she slept. The thought almost made Rosalie cry. She hated being bullied.

She changed into a black dress made with delicate fabric that was ideal for warm but not too hot weather. She washed her face in the bathroom, and tied a part of her golden locks back, with a lacy strip. Then she grabbed a couple of small apples to eat for breakfast.

She did her best to avoid using magic at all costs. However, even then, she couldn't stop feeling nervous, especially after finally learning, why other children treated her like that.

Her mother was a vain actress that died while giving birth to her - or so Rosalie heard, when she eavesdropped on a conversation between the director of the orphanage, and a maid. And her father, Jeffrey Medley, was an infamous, feared upon Wiccan wizard, who was condemned and rejected by all British Pagans for his continuous use of dark magic, magic that eventually killed him.

Rosalie didn't want to be like him, so she chose not to do magic, and simply ignored the powers running through her veins.

Apples in hand, she went out into the orphanage's garden. The sun shone over her ivory skin and blinded her lilac eyes. She waited for a moment to get accustomed to the brightness outside. She followed the gravel trail to the garden's wooden gate and opened it. After closing it, she checked it three times. She was planning to sit on a nice clearing in the nearby grove, and have her breakfast, when a distant sound caught her attention.

“Hey!” a boyish voice called. “Hey, missy!”

Rosalie turned around, to face a well-dressed, sixteen-year-old boy, who was running into her direction. She considered turning around and going back, but it was too late, the boy was already greeting her.

“Hey, missy, would you like to see something grand?” He asked, running his hand through his ginger-colored hair. His golden eyes were glowing with playful light, and he looked like a troublemaker.

“I… I don’t even know your name!” Rosalie pointed out, alarmed.

The boy fixed the expensive vest that he was wearing, and said: “Sorry ‘bout that. My name’s Patrick, Patrick Perry, nice to meet you. How do they call you?” His hand was still extended to her, and Rosalie took it with the tip of her fingers, afraid, it was some joke meant to scare or humiliate her.

“Just Rosie,” she answered, a little mistrustfully, but still cordially. “Rosie Medley.”

“Sorry 'bout scaring you, Rosie, I was a tad too excited about this sacred text I found… I'd like to show it to you if I'm allowed.”

“As long as the text is something you can show to other Wiccans in public, then yes, however, keep in mind, I won’t partake in any questionable magic,” Rosalie imposed, squaring her shoulders to feign disinterest, but interacting with someone new was, indeed, tempting. She was a rather lonely teenage witch, who mostly kept to herself, and seldom exchanged any profound conversations with anyone.

She guided Patrick to a nearby clearing. The trees around gave off a pleasurable aroma, and the grass was still green from rainy spring, and soft, so they sat on it, under the blue sky. Patrick then took a parchment out of the pockets of his vest and gave it to her.

It was blank. It had a strange magical signature, though.

“Am I supposed to write something in it?” Rosalie asked, thinking he might have tricked her, after all, just like everyone else did in the past fourteen years of her short, miserable life.

“Oh,” Patrick sounded surprised. “Don't you know what that is?”

“I think I can feel some magic in it, but no, not really.”

Patrick clasped his hands and then separated them, making the space between them shine with a bright flame growing in the middle of it. Then, with care, brought the flame close to the parchment. The parchment was written with lemon juice ink, and as soon as fire shone on it, the letter started appearing on the paper. They were golden and written in elegant calligraphy. It was The Charge Of The God, an accessible Wiccan text, used to invite the Wiccan God into circles.

So, no dark magic.

Rosalie left out a sigh of relief.

Patrick jumped in place. “I've just bought it this morning, and I'm so excited about it! It's the first school supply I've got! I can't wait to start studying at the Collegium Of Mixed Witchcraft Arts!”

“The Collegium Of Mixed Witchcraft Arts? Oh, Patrick, this is great news!” Rosalie smiled. The feeling of happiness was sincere, but still, she felt a little envious of his bright future.

“You better call me, when you get your confirmation call, too, Rosie!” Patrick grinned. “H-hey, did I say something wrong?” He worried, seeing her face fall.

“No, it’s just… My last name is Medley,” she sighed, sentencing herself to stares and hate from him.

“Medley, Medley... Oh! That evil fella?”

Rosalie was taken aback by Patrick’s choice of words. “That ‘fella’ is my father... He’s gone, and so is my mother, a shallow theater actress... I’ll probably end up at the Collegium Of Pagan Witchcraft,” she complained.

“I see... Well, then!” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll write letters to each other and try to choose the same University!”

“Excuse me?” Rosalie wasn’t sure she heard him right. “You… You don’t have a problem with my father?”

“Why would I? Never met him, and you look like you are going to need a friend down the road. It's the least I can do, for you putting up with my shenanigans today.”

Rosalie offered him one of her apples, and Patrick continued talking about magic, as he ate.