At home, Opal locked herself in the basement.
This was the place where generations of hunters had kept their knowledge—the place where her father had taught her the secrets of their lineage. She scoured through books, notes, and records, searching for one thing: how to kill a witch.
After hours of research, she found it.
A single page, handwritten in an ancestor's journal. The ink was faded, but the message was clear.
"A witch's power dies with her. But be warned—no simple wound can kill them. To sever the ties between life and magic, the heart must be pierced with a blade laced in the blood of the hunter."
Opal's heart pounded in her chest. She read on, absorbing every detail.
She needed the right tools, the right moment. It would take time.
For two weeks, she prepared.
She collected the right herbs. She crafted a dagger, sharpening the blade until it could slice through anything. She mixed the necessary ingredients to weaken a witch's defenses.
Her obsession consumed her.
Derek Sr. noticed immediately.
At dinner, she barely spoke. At night, she lay beside him, cold and distant. She spent hours in the basement, lost in the past, in the hunt.
"Opal," he said one night, his voice thick with concern. "What's going on with you?"
She forced a smile. "Just... overwhelmed."
He didn't look convinced. "You're different."
"I'm fine," she lied.
But she wasn't.
And soon, neither would the witch be.
As Opal continued to wait for her moment, she noticed something else—the town adored the witch.
She performed small spells for people, making their lives easier, making them love her. She healed the sick, helped farmers with their crops, made business owners more successful.
It made Opal sick.
She waited. She watched. And finally, one night, the witch was alone.
Opal followed her into the woods, her heart a steady drumbeat of fury. She watched the woman kneel near a small creek, humming softly to herself.
It was now or never.
Opal struck fast.
The witch barely had time to react before Opal's dagger sank into her chest. Her eyes went wide with shock, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.
Opal twisted the blade.
The witch collapsed, lifeless.
Opal worked quickly, removing all evidence that she had ever been there. She buried the body, wiped away any footprints, and left without a single trace.
By the time she got home, her hands were shaking, but her heart was steady.
She had won.
Or so she thought.