Day 1: The Stroke Of Midnight

A warm glow suffused the air, the heavy heat of the fire and the soft scent of spices creating a cosy cocoon. In a plush green arm chair dozed a witch. You knew she was a witch by the black pointed hat tipped over her face, rising slightly with every small snore. A black cat was curled on her lap and it too was fast asleep. Indeed even the mice in the walls and the fly on the windowsill were asleep. The only sound was the pop and crack of burning wood from the fire. 


A lound bang filled the air, lighting the small room with bright purples and pinks. The cat jumped, claws digging into the witch. She lept from her char witch a cry, sending the cat flying across the room. It hossed and slunk out the door, tail held high. The witch was left standing, one hand clutching her chest. Outside more crackes and fizzes could be heard. 

The little old witch shuffled over to the fire where she busied herself preparing tea. Then, with the kettle left to boil, she moved to the window. 

Far below, enclosed by a ring of mountains, was a village. Every house was lit, and in the very center a square had been strung with lanterns. The villagers were dancing, singing at the top of their voices, their songs drifted up to her. Every now and then another firework was launched into the sky.

She stood waching for so long that even the cat had the bravery to join her again. It watched the sparks fly with the intesity of a mouse hunt. Ocassionally baatting at the window like it could catch them. The kettle let out a high whistle and she moved over, humming to herself. 

Once she was again settled in her arm chair, this time with tea and an old book, the cat moved back to her lap. The old witche’s hat found a place on the table next to her. There they sat through the chimes of the new year, a little old witch and her familiar. 

Sometimes magical things happen at the stroke of midnight, and sometimes its magical just to see the beginning of a new year start.
Part of my story a day challenge, you write a story every day for a whole year. This is day 1, posted late but written on time.

Day 1: The Stroke Of Midnight

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