The table that had a chemistry set sitting on it also had an assortment of beakers and test tubes filled with neon-colored liquids. Another table had a strange device sitting on it that was made out of round glass globes filled with different colored liquids. The glass globes were connected by metal. Some of the liquids were frothing or bubbling suspiciously.
Apparently, her father was conducting some kind of scientific experiment. On one of the worktables there was a tiny black cauldron that looked like it fell out of a Harry Potter book. Also, on that particular table a lot of old tomes and books had been laid out. Some of the books were open and Abigail could see their aged, yellowed pages. Magic books? Abigail wondered uneasily. Daddy’s gone crazy. There was a sinking feeling inside of her stomach.
Abigail watched her father work from her hiding place. She watched as he mixed different chemicals together and caused different chemical reactions. Sometimes the concoctions would froth or bubble, other times they’d even explode. But none of the reactions seemed to be satisfactory since her father would frown, shake his head, and jot down some notes in his notebook. Most of these experiments seemed to have one strange thing in common though - the use or incorporation of an Aurora Borealis quartz stone.
During one such failed experiment Aspen grew angry, picked up the stone he’d been experimenting with and had thrown it across the room. The stone hit the wall and had shattered upon impact. “Damn, useless fake! But I can’t find it. I’ve tried so hard to find it. I have to make it myself. It’s the only way!” There was a crazed gleam in Aspen’s eyes that made Abigail tremble in fear as she watched.
When Holly fell into a coma, Abigail recalled the deafening sound of the entire household staff crying in their despair. Holly had been kind to the staff, and was well liked as a result. Their sadness for the lady of the house was sincere.
Abigail had covered her ears to try and block out the sound of everyone crying. They were already acting like her mother was dead. Abigail ran to her mother’s room and flung open the door. Her father was seated at Holly’s bedside, and Abigail noticed that he was holding a glass vial filled with a rainbow-colored liquid in his hand.
Tears were streaming down Aspen’s face. “I cannot bear to lose you, my love. For now this is all I can do.”
Abigail watched with baited breath as her father forced the contents of the vial down her mother’s throat. Abigail watched in horror as her mother became very still. Holly’s chest stopped rising and falling as her breaths just stopped. A heavy silence permeated the bedroom.
Abigail swayed on her feet as the gravity of what she’d just witnessed began to sink in. Her father…had just poisoned her mother! A chill of fear for her own safety crawled up her spine, and she turned and ran from the room.
Abigail ran until her legs ran out of strength and she collapsed to her knees in the garden. Alone with her pain and grief, Abigail was filled with a sense of betrayal that her beloved, scholarly father had poisoned her beautiful, kind mother.
No one ever did find out what happened to Holly’s body after that. A funeral was held for Holly Snow…but the casket that was buried in the family cemetery was empty. Only the household staff was aware of this discrepancy, of course, and they kept their mouths shut out of loyalty to Mr. Snow and Abigail.
Only a day after the funeral, something strange happened. It was early in the morning and Abigail was making her way down the curved staircase into the foyer when she noticed a statue sitting in the center of the checkered floor that hadn’t been there before.
Abigail continued her way down the steps more slowly, and approached the statue from behind. It was the statue of a woman with long, flowing hair and a floor-length gown. The statue had been carved entirely out of blue quartz.
As she rounded the statue she continued to admire its craftsmanship until she looked up into its face and gasped. She raised a hand in front of her mouth as she just stared because she was looking into the face of her dead mother. “M-Mother!”
It was a statue of Holly Snow. Her delicate, sophisticated features, high cheekbones, and witty smile tugging at her bow-shaped lips were unmistakable. The dress she was wearing was her silk nightgown - the last thing Abigail had seen her mother dressed in before the poisoning.
Abigail nearly jumped a foot in the air when her father placed a hand on her shoulder. “Abigail, have you welcomed your mother back home yet?”
Abigail turned to gape at her father in confusion. “W-What?” She swallowed thickly when she noticed that the crazed look in her father’s eyes had returned.
“It’s so good to have your mother back here with us again, isn’t it?” Aspen prodded in an insistent manner. “Go on, go and give your mother a hug.”
An image of her father poisoning her mother flashed through Abigail’s mind and she was suddenly filled with anger. “That hunk of rock is not my mother!”
Before Aspen even realized what he was doing he’d backhanded Abigail hard across the face with an audible smack.
Abigail raised a trembling hand to her red cheek and stared at her father in disbelief. He’d never struck her before. Why now? Abigail’s gray eyes quickly filled with tears. “I hate you! I hate you!” Abigail turned and ran, heading for the garden, her sanctuary.
With a stricken look on his face Aspen called out to her. “Abigail, wait!” He sank to his knees in front of the statue and reached out to touch the stone foot. “My love, what have I done? Forgive me. Please, forgive me…but don’t worry, I will save you. I’ll find it. I know I will. I’ll never give up the search. I can sense it. It’s close now! We’ll find it. Yes, we will, and then we’ll be a family once more.”
The following day, Aspen Snow could not be found. He’d mysteriously disappeared. Most of the household staff assumed it was suicide and that’d he’d probably just walked off into the forest to never return, unable to cope with Holly’s death.
Oddest of all, a stone statue that looked just like Aspen appeared in the foyer standing next to the statue of Abigail’s mother. The statue was made entirely of blue quartz. As Abigail stared at the statue she couldn’t help but think about how uncanny the likeness was to her father. Both of the statues were so exquisitely carved that they almost appeared alive.
Abigail’s lips thinned into a stern line. But they weren’t alive. They were just statues - useless, worthless, hunks of rock that could not speak, feel, or touch.
With the death of Abigail’s mother and disappearance of her father, Abigail inherited her family’s vast fortune and became a socialite overnight. In a twisted attempt to keep her mother’s memory alive Abigail started dressing like her mother in fine designer clothes, mostly Prada, and her mother’s valuable, glittering gemstone jewelry.
Without her parents’ presence the huge mansion became suffocating to Abigail. With only the serious household staff to keep her company, the place became unbearably quiet and lonesome. When left alone with her own thoughts, they’d stray to how Abigail’s father had poisoned her mother and she’d squeeze her head with her own hands as she tried futilely to crush the memories out of her head.
In order to rid the mansion of its heavy silence, Abigail started to throw grand, extravagant parties, and invited only la crème de la crème. The deferential way her guests treated her began to go to her head, and her ego swelled. The more beautiful her clothes or jewelry, the more her guests would praise her.
Abigail started to live for their praise. She spent thousands on new clothes, and hundreds of thousands on new jewelry she didn’t need. It took Abigail hours to get ready for her parties. She’d sit in front of her dressing table for nearly an hour holding up different earrings and necklaces to herself before finally deciding which set to wear for the evening.
Her guests started to grow competitive with each other, and began wearing their best clothes and jewelry when they went to one of Abigail’s parties. Abigail noticed how they fought for her attention and reveled in it. She started to grow particular about who could attend her parties until only the richest and most beautiful people were allowed to attend.
On her eighteenth birthday, Abigail decided to throw herself the most extravagant and lavish dance party yet. The best caterer available in Alaska had cooked the food for the buffet. A popular band had been hired for the evening’s entertainment, and her guests were suitably impressed.
The ballroom had been decorated with blue, white and silver balloon sculptures. More helium-filled balloons floated along the ballroom’s frescoed ceiling. One long table served as an open buffet while another long table was arranged entirely with decadent desserts, and fancy, novelty cakes with colorful, fondant icing. One of the cakes had been commissioned to look like a yeti, or Abominable Snowman. Just for fun.
Standing on the table where the champagne was already served in delicate flute glasses was an ice sculpture of a yeti. It was a hideous, monkey-like creature with fluffy fur and abnormally long arms. Abigail had laughed amusedly at the ice sculpture when she’d first laid eyes upon it, and smiled wickedly. “Oh, it’s so hideous. I absolutely love it!” She’d praised the man who’d carved the ice sculpture for her, and had tipped him outrageously.
As unobtrusively as possible, Abigail’s maids and butlers flitted through the guests while holding silver trays arranged with glasses of champagne for the guests to take. Abigail had made it quite clear to her servants that they were meant to be seen, not heard.
Abigail took a flute of champagne from a butler that passed her by and took a sip as she took that moment to admire her dancing guests. A pleased smile curled her lips. Her party was perfect, and so were her guests. The women were dressed in designer gowns by Gucci, Chanel, Prada and Dolce and Gabbana. The men were, of course, dressed in designer suits, and had sparkling watches on their wrists by Cartier or Rolex.
As Abigail made her way through the crowd on the dance floor while looking for a man handsome enough to ask to dance with her, her guests complimented her on her wonderful party, the food, the music, the champagne, and, of course, her appearance. She was wearing a new Gucci gown, and the diamond jewelry she was wearing was quite showy. Abigail preened the most when her guests would tell her that she looked like her late mother.
Abigail felt like a goddess in that moment. Her guests practically worshipped and adored her. And that was because she was stunning, wasn’t she? Just like her mother Holly.
Her party was going quite smoothly until it started to rain outside. This caused Abigail’s lips to dip into a sullen frown. If the weather remained foul that evening she wouldn’t be able to have her impressive fireworks display. Thunder boomed so loudly that people cried out, and then laughed at their own fear in a self-deprecating manner.
Unfortunately, the storm didn’t abate, and only seemed to get worse. Rain lashed violently against the tall, latticed windows in the ballroom causing the windows to vibrate in an unnerving fashion.
The branches from the trees that were just outside the windows began to scrape along the windowpanes in an unsettling manner that had Abigail hugging her arms around her torso. It was like the trees wanted to get inside out of the harsh rain…
A loud, booming knock on the front door startled Abigail out of her strange thoughts. It seemed to echo throughout the entire mansion. Something made Abigail go answer the door herself when usually she would have had a servant do it for her. Heaven forbid one of her honored guests was out there in the pouring rain, getting soaked though.
When Abigail opened the front door it was to reveal an old man who was hunched over, and wearing tattered clothing. Abigail’s gray eyes raked over the old man critically and scrunched up her nose in disgust. He was quite ugly, the skin on his face wrinkled, his gray hair wiry and plastered to his face. He smelled and was obviously poor, perhaps even homeless.
“What do you want here?” Abigail demanded with a haughty air. “This is private property and you’re trespassing.”
“Lady Abigail, may I please come in for just a moment to get out of the rain, and warm myself by your fire? I’ll even pay you. I’ll give you the very thing your father was searching for all this time.” The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a rainbow-colored Aurora Borealis stone.
Abigail snootily stared down her nose at the rainbow-colored stone. “You would offer me that worthless rock to receive the privilege of sitting by my fire!” she sneered, her lip curling. “I think not. Shoo.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture towards the old man. “Before I call security to remove you from my presence.”
A disappointed look fell over the old man’s face, and he shook his head. “Pity. You are not yet worthy to wield the Philosopher’s Stone. I will have to teach you a lesson in kindness and humility. Then perhaps, one day, you shall be worthy.”
Abigail’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What nonsense are you babbling about, old man?”
But then the old man straightened until he was towering over Abigail at six-five. He lowered his ragged hood and with the motion the man’s appearance changed. The old man became young and handsome. He had short, wavy, golden-blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes filled with a kind of ancient wisdom, and an attractive dimple in his square chin. The ratty, wool material of his hooded cloak turned into lush, dark blue velvet that was embroidered with golden stars.
Abigail gasped in surprise as the odious old man turned into a handsome young man. “W-Who are you?”
“I am known as the Sorcerer Agathon.” Agathon executed a mocking bow.
“But, you’re so handsome-” Abigail was saying.
“And you are so very ugly,” Agathon retorted as he touched the stone to Abigail’s chest, directly over her heart, “in here.”
Abigail’s heart began to beat faster inside of her chest, and she was abruptly filled with excruciating pain. It felt like someone was stabbing her body with tiny daggers, all over. A scream was wrenched from her lips as her body began to transform. Thick, white fur began to sprout all over her body, except for her face and hands. Her skin turned a sky-blue color, and her eyes turned solid silver with no whites. Her short nails lengthened into sharp, black claws. Lastly, two short, black horns emerged from out of the top of her head.
At that point the pain was so excruciating Abigail nearly passed out. She swayed on her feet and struggled to remain standing. When the pain finally began to recede, Abigail was on her knees on the floor, tears in her eyes. She looked up at the sorcerer helplessly.
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