Sybil Switcher If you think witches aren’t real, you’re right. They are called sibyls, or by my family, spawn of the devil. Most people where I live call them simply, spawn. That’s because they have not an ounce of good or love in their devil occupied hearts. My name is Destiny Gaffney, but most called me Dezi, or sibyl switcher. Why sibyl switcher? I’m writing this as an old woman, so I hope you know why at the end of this tale, because I won’t be around for you to ask questions. That day, years ago, I woke to chicks peeping in my ear. What? I thought the chick’s pen was in the yard. The only solution was that I had fallen asleep in the barn. Or something had opened the- I sprang out of bed as the realization hit me. I grabbed my crook and sling off of my roughly sanded bedside table. I raced out of the door and into the yard, and saw the wolves about to pounce. There were three of them. They were more than just the small wolves, too. These were the size of a small hound. I would need my brother for this. “Isaac!” I called to him. Nothing. I called louder. “ISAAC!” Finally I saw him coming. He was carrying a sling as well. “On three?” he says. I nod, ready to throw. “One,-“ “Two, three.” I finish. We swing the sling around our head twice, and the stones go hurtling towards the wolves. Mine goes to the one on the left, taking it in its hind leg. Isaac’s goes to the big one in the middle, and hits it square in the head. “Nice shot. I’ll protect the chickens, you get the last one?” I ask. He shakes his head. “I’ve no stones left.” I gulp. “Okay.” He takes a step to the left, towards the coop where the chickens lay, petrified, as I load a stone into my sling. He nods and I focus on the spot where I was trained to hit, just between the eyes. I swung the loaded swing into the air, and the low whirring filled the air. The wolf that I injured earlier woofed a warning to the last one, but Isaac bashed that one on the head with a piece of wood, and the wolf fell silent, unconscious. I whipped the sling down in an arc, and the stone flew at the target. There was a crack, and the wolves fell down, dead. We hauled the dead bodies into the woods, and covered them with leaves and fallen branches. When I looked at the sun, I saw that it was time for me to make breakfast. Groaning, I turned and walked into our house. Our house really wasn’t much, but I had lived there for my whole #life. The nobles called it a shack, but I think they are overreacting. Our house has gray stone walls, a shingled roof, and usually has smoke coming from the stout chimney. I walked in to see my mother cooking breakfast. Oatcakes, that’s a surprise! “Happy 19th birthday Dezi!” my little brother Eros, who’s four, yelled as soon as he noticed me. Oh yeah! In all the excitement, I had forgotten. I had had my 19th birthday around two’ clock this morning. We all sat down at the small kitchen table. Mother served the oatcakes, and we all blessed our meal before the gods. “Do we have any honey?” I asked. “Yes we do, I’ll get it!” Eros squealed. All of a sudden a howl rang through the air. Looks like the wolves had some friends. The howls thickened as more wolves joined in the mourning. Maybe the wolves had a few more friends than I had thought. Then there was a sudden ripping sound. The sound was the wolves’ claws scratching our wooden front door. I silently grabbed my sling and a few extra stones. I motioned to Isaac and he did the same. I went to the window on the east side, he went to the west. My father went upstairs to see if they were all around us. He came back looking grim. They had us surrounded. I pulled a stone out of my satchel and looked at a wolf to aim at. I heard a crack of a whip, and the wolves ran off. I looked into the window to see what had saved my family. I could see nothing, but I thought I saw a swish of a dark maroon cloak as I turned away. I could investigate after breakfast. I went downstairs and found the oatcakes were still warm. The family filed in one by one as the shock faded. We all sat back down and started to enjoy our belated breakfast. I wanted to head out and check what I had seen, but I didn’t want to worry my family, so I kept it to myself. A few hours later, I saw Isaac going out to milk the cow, so I pulled him to a corner, and told him my plan. I was going to the place I had seen the perplexing maroon cloak hours before. Maroon was such a rare color, the person who owned it had to be a noble. So many people had grey or black clothing, so the only beauty was in nature. It taught us to appreciate what real beauty looks like, and not to be concerned about what we look like. We knew that all we had to do to be good farmers, was work hard and protect our animals. I was scouting out where I had thought I saw the cloak, when I noticed something. It was silent. Deadly silent. The birds had stopped singing, and there was no wind. Out of the peculiar silence, there was an ear-shattering scream. I barrelled out of the woods, and saw a sign: Θ scratched on the door. I redoubled my efforts to reach the house, and got there in a few seconds. I skidded into the kitchen, and I saw Isaac staring at my parents and Eros, who were frozen. I mean, frozen in place. They were hung by a black mist that hung over them like shawls. Isaac looked like he was about to faint. His face was pale as snow. “Isaac…?” I ask tentatively. “…eggs…there was a crack...saw this... Came as fast... As I could….” Isaac sputtered, looking as shocked as if he had gotten stuck by lightning. “What? Could you say that slower, or more clearly please?” I asked, talking as if I was talking to a cow, slow and reassuring. He took a deep breath, and started over. “I was just out collecting eggs when I heard a muffled shout, like an incantation. I thought I saw a maroon cloak too. I came as fast as I could, but I got here almost thirty seconds before you!” he says. Okay, so there was something with this maroon cloak. I think it has to do with the wolves this morning too, the ones that scattered when they heard the whip. So as I tried to put the pieces of the puzzle, I realized that this had something to do with magic. I cursed. “What?” Isaac asked. “Earlier, when you said you heard a shout, what did you think it sounded like?” “Well, kind of like a curse. The voice was growly like a wolf.” This is bad. This is very bad. A maroon cloak, with a whip, and the wolves? This spells trouble. “I’m not sure, but I think I know who is behind all this.” “Who?” Isaac asked. “This is the work of Elegia, the blood wolf Sybil, whose maroon cloak -the color of blood, and personal wolf pack, earned her name.” I say with dread. “You should go to the inn and see if she’s active again?” my brother, not one to panic, calmly asked. “Oh, we know she’s active, all right.”