1- Iris The Witch

"Put down the Axe!" The lady growled with frustration and continued blowing into the fire with a wooden pipe.

The smoke from the fireplace was enough to make the whole chamber look like a cloud, and not in a good way. 

"But Mother, I will turn this axe into a pot for you," Iris answered as she held her hand up towards the sky and said some words under her breath. Her red hair added character to the unknown words that her lips mumbled, almost giving them life. 

Her mother gave out an annoyed sigh before slamming the wooden straw on the floor and walking up to her. 

"You think?" She said and snatched the axe from her daughter's hand. She closed her eyes and lifted the axe to the roof of the small room in which they were and mumbled something. 

A dark cloud emerged from nowhere and surrounded the axe in the woman's hand. In just a matter of a few seconds, the axe visibly took the silhouette of a broom, and the clouds vanished. 

Maybe if there was a third person in the room then they might have found this situation scary and unusual, but for Iris, it was another defeat. 

Once again, her effort at doing even basic witchcraft has failed. 

"When will I do that?" Iris took her chin in both of her palms and looked at the broom/axe in her mother's hand. 

"There is a time for everything." Her mother was not an ordinary woman. She was someone who was known for having magic hands, literally. 

Rosalie was a witch, as people liked to call her. She had immense knowledge of witchcraft, which was apparent through her victorious attempts at different magics. 

"Now, go and clean the garden." Rosalie extended the broom towards Iris and walked towards the fireplace.

"But Mother!" Iris protested. 

"When is it my time?" She questioned. Rosalie sighed once again. 

Ever since Iris had turned twenty, she had been asking the same question. 

"I have told you a thousand times, it will come soon." Rosalie successfully did her first witchcraft when she turned twenty however that seemed to be unlikely for her beloved daughter.

"When?" Iris sat closer to her mother and slowly rested her head on her shoulders. "When is my turn to be a famous witch, just like you?" 

"It is not important to be famous or to be a witch." Rosalie caressed her daughter's cheek and continued to blow air into the fireplace to keep it alive.

"What's for dinner?" Iris sat straight up and stared at the pot sitting on the fire.

"Go and sweep," Rosalie commanded, which made Iris eventually get up.

"I am not eating chicken feet for the third time in a row," Iris declared before storming out of the room. 

"Then go to bed hungry!" Rosalie made sure that her voice reached her daughter before the door to the room was shut. 

"I hate chicken feet!" Iris shouted as soon as she was sure that the door to the house was shut.

She could never scream in front of her mother about hating food.

"Chicken feet, chicken feet, chicken feet." Iris frustratingly began sweeping the small garden.

Iris knew that they were poor but eating chicken feet every day of the week made her honestly believe that. 

She liked living in a small cottage on the outskirts of this huge island. The cottage came with a small garden which she was sweeping right now. Although most of the plants in this garden were her mother's witchcraft instruments, she enjoyed knowing more about them. 

She knew which plant did what and which leaf turned a human into which animal. Witchcraft had a chokehold on her. She would sit with her mother for hours just watching her make new potions. 

As much as she wanted to experience the magic herself, she had failed. 

When she finally turned twenty, she thought that her wait was over. She had learned from her mother that witchcraft worked for her the night she turned twenty.

She desperately waited by looking at the tiny watch inside the cottage. As soon as the clock struck 12, she attempted the most basic craft but flunked miserably. 

She tried it again and again. She failed again and again. 

It was almost 6 am when she gave up. She cried herself to sleep that night and tried it again the next morning only to be disappointed again. 

However, the failure didn't let her give up witchcraft at all. She would still assist her mother in making potions and healing people.

"Is that a new song you have learned?" A familiar voice cascaded into Iris' ears. 

She almost jumped because of the surprise and darted toward the voice. 

"Chicken feet, chicken feet." The man laughed and leaned over on the wooden fence which marked the boundary of the witch's cottage.

"Don't you know that this fence is cursed?" Iris stopped sweeping and rested her chin on the broom.

"Surely, it is. I guess you might have cursed it using your witchcraft?" The man smiled and then made a sorry face. "Oh, I forgot, you cannot."

Iris was already burning into fumes. 

"Get out!" She shouted and continued her cleaning, trying not to acknowledge the man anymore. 

"Come on! It was a good joke." He made his way inside the garden after opening the wooden gate. 

"What do you want?" Iris paused the sweeping again. 

"My mother's medicine." He answered with a calm fashion now.

"Mother is inside," Iris informed the man and gestured toward the cottage. 

"Should I tell her, how you were singing a chicken feet song?" The man chuckled as he made his way inside the cottage through the rocky path. 

"This broom used to be an axe, Rhys." Iris lifted the broom and held it as if she was holding an axe. "and you are aware that magic does not last long." 

"Relax! It was a joke." Rhys opened the door of the cottage and hurried inside. 

"I hate your jokes!" Iris shouted before Rhys slammed the cottage door and disappeared inside. 

"He will be the death of me," Iris said particularly to no one and went back to sweeping.