MIDNIGHT’S PROMISE

MIDNIGHT’S PROMISE

The first thing I ever remember is the sound of her voice. Soft as moonlight, steady as an old song.

“Hello there, little one,” she said. “I think I’ll call you midnight.”

I blinked open my tiny kitten eyes, and there she was-Elara, a young witch with hair the color of autumn leaves and eyes full of kindness and secrets. She smelled like lavender and old spellbooks, and from that moment on she was my world.

**

Life in the cottage was simple, warm and full of magic. Elara and I lived at the edge of Wrenwood Forest, where the trees whispered secrets and the stars seemed to hang a little lower than anywhere else.

Each morning, I’d perch on the windowsill, while she stirred her potions. I’d flick my tail when her brew smelled off-she said I had an impeccable nose for trouble. When villagers came for healing charms or blessings I’d wind around their legs, purring, and they’d leave smiling, their hearts a little lighter.

Elara would wink at me and say “see midnight? Even the smallest bit of magic can change a day.”

I always thought she meant the spells. But I think now, she meant the love.

**

One winter evening, when the snow blanketed the forest and the wind howled like a thousand spirits, Elara sat by the fire, her hands trembling. Her hair had more silver in it than I remembered, and her eyes looked tired.

“Midnight,” she whispered. “My magic is fading.”

I leapt into her lap pressing my fur to her cheek. She stroked me gently.

“You’ve been with me all these years,” she said, smiling faintly. “When I found you, I thought I was saving you. But maybe you were saving me and I smiled a little more.”

I didn’t understand-not then. But I felt the ache in her words. I stayed close that night, purring until dawn.

**

The seasons turned. The snow melted, flowers returned, and the forest sang again. But Elara’s steps grew slower. Her spells weaker. The candlelight in her eyes began to dim.

On her final night, she sat by the window, moonlight spilling over her like a blessing.

“It’s time for me to rest my dear one,” she said. “But don’t be sad. A familiar’s bond never truly ends. You’ll know when it’s time to help another witch find her way.”

I curled beside her, my heart heavy, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath until it faded into silence.

**

For many moons after I wandered Wrenwood alone. The cottage grew quiet, dust gathered on the shelves where once there had been laughter and light. Still, I stayed. A witch’s familiar never abandons their post.

Then one spring morning, a girl came through the trees-barefoot, curious, clutching a tattered spellbook. She tripped over the old garden path and laughed at herself.

When she looked up. I saw Elara’s spark in her eyes.

“Well, hello there,” she said softly. “You must be midnight.”

And just like that I knew.

Magic never truly fades-it just finds new hands to hold it.

So, I leapt into her arms, purring. My heart light again under the morning sun.

Midnights Promise-Part Two: A New Light in Wrenwood

The girl’s name was Lila, and from the very first day, I could tell she was different.

She wasn’t polish like Elara-her spells were messy, her handwriting worse, and her cauldron often looked more like a disaster than a brew. But her laughter filled the cottage again, echoing through the rafters like sunlight after a long storm.

And stars help me-I’d miss that sound.

**

On her first week, she burned her first three potions, tripped over the broom twice, and accidentally turned the teapot into a frog.

‘I-I think, I did something wrong,” she cried, as the frog croaked indignantly from the counter.

I blinked once, jumped up beside it and gave it a sniff.

“Ribbit,” it said mournfully.

I flicked my tail toward the shelf where the Reversal Charm book sat. She followed my gaze, squinting. “That one? Are you… helping me?

I purred.

Lila’s grin was crooked and full of wonder. “I guess you really are a familiar.”

From that day on, she called me professor midnight. I pretended to find it beneath my dignity-but secretly, I rather liked it.

**

Each day she learned more about Wrenwood’s magic: how the moss glowed under moonlight, how the will-o-wisps led wanderer’s home, how kindness was the truest spell of all.

And slowly, I began to see the same light that once shone in Elara’s eyes flicker to life in hers.

But not everything in the forest was kind.

One evening, a storm rolled through-wild and fierce, thunder crackling like laughter from an old ghost. Lila was out in the woods, gathering herbs before the frost, and hadn’t returned.

My fur bristled. Something was wrong.

I darted out into the rain. My paws sinking into mud, lightning illuminating the path ahead. I could feel her fear-our bond faint but strong, pulling me through the trees.

Then I saw her.

She was crouched beneath a fallen oak, clutching her satchel, whispering spells that fizzle and died. A dark shape-smoke and shadow. Something old-was circling her.

A Wraith.

It hissed when it saw me, its voice like ice scraping glass. “Another witch’s pet.”

I didn’t think. I leapt between them, fur on end, eyes burning silver in the storm light. I didn’t have Elara’s power-but I had her love. And that, I knew was still magic.

I yowled-a sound that carried all the memories of the witches who came before, all the warmth of every hearth I’d guarded. The wraith flinched, shuddered and burst apart like mist in sunlight.

When it was gone, Lila fell to her knees, tears mixing with rain.

“You saved me,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “You really are magic.”

I purred, though I was shaking. I wish I could speak, to tell her the truth-that she had saved herself. Her courage had called me. Her heart had kept the light alive.

**

When we returned to the cottage, Lila lit every candle she owned. The warm glow danced across the old stone walls, chasing away the storm’s chill.

She held me close and whispered, “Thank you, midnight. I think I’m starting to understand now.

I looked up at her and for a moment-just a flicker-I saw Elara standing behind her smiling. The past and the present overlapping like moonlight and shadow.

**

That night, as Lila slept by the fire, I curled up beside her and dreamed of both witches-the one who taught me love, and the one who taught me to hope again.

Magic, I realize, isn’t just in spells or potions. It’s in the hearts that keep believing even after the darkness comes.

And as long as there is a witch who needs me, I’ll be there-watching guarding, guiding.

For that is the promise of a familiar.

Midnight’s Promise-Part Three: The Secret of the Spellbook

The next morning, the storm was gone. The forest sparkled, every leaf and branch jeweled with dew. Inside the cottage, Lila was humming softly to herself as she brewed tea.

It was a good sound-brighter, stronger than before.

But as she reached for the tea tin, her fingers brushed something hidden behind it. A small leather- bound book-old, dusted with ash, and sealed with a silver clasp shaped like a crescent moon.

“Elara Wrenwood,” she read softly, tracing the faint name carved into the cover.

My tail flickered. That name still sent a shiver through me.

Elara’s spellbook.

The one I hadn’t seen since the night she left this world.

**

Lila carried it to the table, her eyes wide with awe. “Is this… hers?”

I hopped onto the table and nodded, brushing my paw across the silver clasp. It shimmered faintly, as if recognizing me.

“She must’ve been powerful,” Lila whispered. “I wonder what she left behind.”

But as she reached to open it, the clasp pulsed with a soft light and wouldn’t budge.

She frowned. “It’s locked.”

I let out a quiet meow, pawing at the air. Not locked, I thought, guarded.

Elara had sealed her book for a reason, only a heart ready to understand her magic would open it.

Lila sighed and sat back. “Guess it’s not my time yet.”

But I saw the glint of determination in her eyes. The same stubborn spark Elara once had.

**

Over the next few days, strange things began happening in Wrenwood.

Candles flickered without wind. The garden herbs grew in odd spirals. And at night, a faint humming filled the air-the same melody Elara used to hum when she was thinking.

Lila noticed it too. “Midnight,” she said one evening, kneeling beside me, “do you think she’s still here?”

I blinked slowly, the way cats do when we mean yes.

“Then maybe, she’s trying to tell us something.”

Lila’s gaze drifted to the spellbook.

**

That night, under a full moon, she placed it on the table again. The silver clasp gleamed brighter than before, almost alive.

“Alright, Elara,” she said softly. “If you want me to follow in your footsteps, show me how.

She pressed her hand to the cover-and the clasp clicked open.

The book sighed, like a long breath released after years of silence. Pages fluttered, glowing faintly, before settling on one filled with flowing ink.

“To my familiar and to the witch who comes after me-magic is not power. It is love given shape. When heart meets courage, light will return to Wrenwood.”

Lila’s hand trembled. “What does it mean?”

I looked toward the window. Out in the forest, the shadows were shifting again-restless, waiting.

Elara’s last spell wasn’t finished.

**

The next day we set out together. Lila carried Elara’s spellbook, and I walked by her side, tail high, heart steady.

We followed the faint glow through the forest to the old Wishing Hollow-a place where Elara and I once casted moonlight blessings for villagers long ago. Now, it was silent, the air thick with forgotten magic.

In the center of the clearing stood an ancient stone, carved with runes that pulsed faintly with silver light.

Lila opened the book. “This is it,” she whispered. “The last spell.”

The words shimmered across the page: “To restore what was lost, give what is freely yours.”

Lila frowned. “Give… what?”

I stepped forward, brushing my fur against her leg. She looked down, eyes wide with understanding.

“My heart,” she said softly. “My love.”

Her voice broke as she placed her hand on the stone. “Elara, if you can hear me-I’ll carry your light. I’ll keep Wren wood safe.”

The runes blazed, and light spilled through the clearing, chasing away every shadow. The forest sighed-a living thing awakening from a long sleep.

When the glow faded, the stones markings had changed. At its center was now a small carving of a cat tail curled around a crescent moon.

Me.

**

That night, as we walked home beneath the stars, Lila smiled down at me. “Guess she trusted me, after all.”

I purred softly. She did. I do.

And high above, I swear I saw a glimmer of silver in the night sky-a whisper of Elara’s magic watching over us.

**

Back at the cottage, Lila placed Elara’s book on the mantel and whispered. “For those who came before, and those who will come after.”

Then she looked at me. “Ready for our next adventure, Professor Midnight?”

I flicked my tail. Always.

Because where there is love, there is magic. And where there a witch, there will always be her familiar.