Chapter 117: The Love Story of the Enemy
**Thelma Zane’s POV**
“The Rocky Mountains?” Dorothy asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Are there sorcerers there? I’ve never heard of such a thing
I shrugged, offering her a faint smile. “It’s new to me too. But according to the witch in the dungeon, it’s a secluded clan, hidden from the rest of the world.”
Dorothy’s unease was palpable as she shook her head. “What if the witch was lying? She’s cunning, the kind of person who thrives on misleading others with false information.”
“But Master Mary cast a lie detection spell on her,” I reminded her. “If she were lying about this, the spell would’ve exposed her. She couldn’t have fabricated it.”
Dorothy’s gaze drifted toward the window, her expression clouded with nostalgia. “The Rocky Mountains… It’s strange you mention them. My mother once told me a story set in those mountains, though I’ve never shared it with anyone.”
Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What story?
“It’s a tragic tale,” Dorothy began, her voice tinged with melancholy. “A legend about the origins of the prophetic bloodline on this continent. It’s said that a witch, the ancestor of the prophetic witches, fled with her lover to escape persecution by the church. They sought refuge in the Rocky Mountains.
‘But her lover turned out to be a coward. Under the church’s pressure, he betrayed both the witch and their infant son. During their flight, the witch lost her child. While she escaped into the mountains, the baby was discovered by a werewolf hunter who raised him as his own.
“The child grew up under the hunter’s care, but tragedy struck during a magic–induced riot. The boy accidentally caused the hunter’s death. Overcome with guilt, he sought to revive the hunter’s soul, even going so far as to steal the hunter’s heart to summon satanic powers.
“Unfortunately, it was too late. The hunter’s soul had already passed into the embrace of the
Moon Goddess.
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“Then came a demon, cruel and manipulative, who preyed on the boy’s despair. The demon revealed the boy’s true heritage and offered him a bargain: journey to the Rocky Mountains. and bring back the head of the Supreme Witch, Mullvica, in exchange for the hunter’s soul.
“Desperate and broken, the boy agreed. He embarked on a perilous journey and eventually found the witch clan hidden in the Rocky Mountains. But when he encountered Mullvica, his blood recognized hers, and he realized she was his long–lost mother.”
Dorothy paused, her voice faltering as she continued. “Torn between loyalty to his adoptive father and the bond with his mother, the boy became ensnared in the demon’s manipulations.
Chaptó 11). The Live Story of thứ I meny
On a fateful full moon night, he succumbed to the demon’s enchantment and killed his
mother.
“Word of his actions soon reached his half–sister. Consumed by rage, she rallied the witches to capture him. They burned him alive at dawn, using fire and pine branches.
“Even in his final moments, the boy begged the demon to fulfill its promise. But the demon mocked him, reveling in his agony. With his dying strength, the boy managed to drag the
demon into destruction with him.
“The witches, fearing the lingering evil, sealed the remains of the demon and the boy. They locked themselves away in the Rocky Mountains, vowing to guard the seal forever. To this day, no one has seen a witch emerge from those mountains. There are whispers of eerie marks on the pine trees–scratches resembling a smiling face. People say it’s the demon’s way of tempting passersby to unseal it.”
As Dorothy finished, I was left speechless. The story was as tragic and profound as any myth
from ancient Greece.
Her sadness was unmistakable, and I spoke gently, “You think the Rocky Mountains might be empty now? That the witches are long gone?”
She hesitated, her expression distant. “I don’t know. It’s just a story, after all. Who can say if it’s true?”
“Do you know where your mother learned it?” I asked, curious. “It sounds like something deeply rooted in history–or maybe she made it up to soothe you as a child?”
Dorothy gave me a bitter smile. “I think it’s true.
“Why?”
In response, she reached into her collar and pulled out a small copper pendant. It depicted at pine branch encircled by flames.
“Because I am the descendant of the hunter in the story,” she said quietly. “My mother and grandmother both carried the hunter’s bloodline. And now, so do I.”
I blinked, stunned. “You… what?”
Dorothy’s grip on the pendant tightened. “It sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth. Now you understand why my grandmother reacted so violently to my parents‘ relationship, don’t you?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “This is like a real–life Romeo and Juliet.”
Dorothy let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, the descendant of an enemy falling in love with a prophetic witch. Could there be anything more ironic or dramatic? I heard that my grandmother went to extreme lengths to stop my mother. She tortured her, just as she later tortured me, trying to force her to abandon her love.
Change 117 Theseve Story of the Enemy
“But my mother was determined. She ran away, leaving both me and my grandmother behind. Perhaps she thought she was protecting me by doing so.”
Her voice softened, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. “That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to hate my grandmother, despite everything. She was a broken woman. Once revered and powerful, but in the end, abandoned by those she loved most. Her cruelty stemmed from her own pain. Perhaps immersing herself in her delusions was the only way she could hold onto the fragments of her past life.”
Dorothy’s words lingered in the air, heavy with sorrow and understanding. Her story shed new light on her past, revealing the complicated web of love, betrayal, and tragedy that had shaped her life.
For a moment, we sat in silence, the weight of the tale settling over us. The Rocky Mountains now seemed less like a potential lead and more like a doorway to an unresolved chapter in Dorothy’s history. The witches, if they still existed, might hold answers. But the journey there was fraught with uncertainty–and the echoes of a love story that had left scars on generations.
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