Pressing her hand against the base of the damaged candle holder, Sabrina closed her eyes, connecting with the metal in preparation of repairing it.

Every witch accessed magic in a different way. In fact, the purpose of Affinity Testing during childhood was to discover each Hexen member's affinity, the way in which she could connect with and utilize the magic around her.

There were countless different affinities, each one vital to the continuation of the coven, and over time witches with the same affinity had naturally been drawn to working together. As a metallurgist, Sabrina trained and worked with other witches who possessed the ability to connect with metal, but over the years she'd learned that although there were similarities among the metalworkers, there were also differences.

The biggest difference lay in how the witches utilized their affinity to communicate with metal, a process that was unique for each and every individual. Bettina, for example, communicated with metal by sharing images of various colors, each color meaning something different and each shade within a color meaning something further still.

Tante Olga had once described communicating with metal using temperature, feeling her hands grow warmer or colder as information was exchanged in a way only she and the metal she worked with could understand. And Tante Ingrid had explained years ago that she had actual conversations with metal...to her, each metal had a distinct voice and personality, with some being shy while others were witty and still others were sarcastic to the point of being rude.

When Sabrina communicated with metal, it was purely visual. There was no sound, which was fine by her, as there were many days she wished she could go through life with cotton stuffed in her ears, dampening the loud, jarring, or simply annoying noises constantly intruding on her efforts at peace.

She wasn't certain if her propensity for silence contributed to the expression of her affinity, or if it was because she was a visual learner, grasping those concepts best she could see and study. Alternatively, it could simply be an aspect of her affinity that defied explanation, but regardless, she was grateful for a way to put her photographic memory to use, as she otherwise wasn't certain what she would have done with all the images stored in her mind.

Upon connecting with metal, it was as if an illustrated book opened before her, page after page of words and pictures coming to life. Sabrina could read about the metal's history, as well as watch scenes play out, depicting where it had been mined from the earth, how it had been transported from one place to another, and how long it had remained in any given location.

With metal that was still in its raw, unshaped form, she could see pictures and read descriptions of what the metal wished to become; for pieces of metal that had already been shaped into one object or another, she could watch and read about its history, as well as what it had looked like before being damaged, if it had been sent to her for repair.

Every metal was different...some shared only a picture or two, with the addition of perhaps a single word or sentence. Other metals were more forthcoming, sharing numerous pictures and more than one written paragraph. The most verbose metals were happy to share reams of pictures and pages of text, detailing everything they thought Sabrina needed to know.

In return, Sabrina could add to the pages in her mind, communicating with the metal by sharing scenes from her own life, memories she'd made, people or objects she'd seen, places she'd been, and images she'd formed while reading.

She could also shared her thoughts in the form of text. It never failed to impress her how the words appeared on the page in her mind in the style of her own handwriting, which slanted in inconsistent directions and typically appeared rushed, likely because she was always in a hurry to get her thoughts out before she forgot them.

It felt like what she imagined writing a book would be like, only she was co-authoring it with the metal, with the result being a true collaboration.

Connecting to the candelabra, Sabrina offered up an image of herself as a child running into a table and knocking over a picture frame. Glancing over at her mother, who scowled in annoyance, six-year-old Sabrina covered her face with her hands in a gesture of mortification. She reached down and used the hem of her dress to wipe off the frame, which thankfully hadn't suffered damage, before replacing the picture on the table and turning towards her mother, eyes downcast as a tear ran down her cheek.

I'm sorry, she offered to the metal, watching as the words appeared in her own hurried scrawl on the blank page in her mind. It's not your fault I'm not happy about repairing you. You didn't do anything wrong, and you deserve to be treated with care. I'm not upset with you; I'm frustrated with myself and my life.

The silver considered what she'd shared, then responded by offering a series of pictures in return, images of a blacksmith running his hands over the candelabra after it had been repaired for the first time, checking to make certain no damage remained. He smiled at the ornate candle holder with pride, and silver letters appeared before Sabrina's eyes, just below her own written words.

Thank you for the explanation. All's well that ends well, assured the silver.

Sabrina smiled to herself and flashed an image of herself hugging Maedra, one of her two best friends, after she'd been sick with scarlet fever and forced to quarantine in the Medizinhalle for two weeks. The image conveyed both happiness and relief, and feeling a little better, she opened her eyes and began repairing the bent candleholder, determined to put her personal feelings about her work aside in favor of giving the silver the care it deserved.

A while later, Tante Olga entered the workshop, causing both Sabrina and Bettina to pause their work and offer a greeting. By this time, Sabrina had finished fixing the candelabra, and Tante Olga paused beside it, studying the sturdy piece.

"It's beautiful," she smiled. "You'd never know it ever suffered damage. Well done, Sabrina."

Sabrina smiled, but the expression, like her mentor's praise, felt empty. Of course she had done it. Doing things with metal was what she was good at, what she lived for. The problem was never having enough time to do what she really wanted, what she knew less about and certainly wasn't as good at.

Perhaps, though, given her instructor's good mood, now was an opportune time to mention the possibility of having her own workspace.

"Will I always work here with you," Sabrina asked, "or will I be allowed to have my own workshop one day?"

Tante Olga blinked at her, the surprise on her softly-lined face offset by an unexpected touch of sadness. "In the past, Hexen metallurgists have shared the two workshops we have...does that arrangement not suit you?"

Sabrina shrugged, wishing she didn't suddenly feel so uncomfortable. She was annoyed with herself for upsetting Tante Olga, but at the same time, she was annoyed her simple question had been perceived as upsetting.

She hurried to find the right thing to say.

"I just think it might be nice to have somewhere to work that's mine, where I can leave my things out and not have them disturbed...and where they aren't in anyone's way," she added, hoping that sounded kinder, even though it wasn't strictly her main concern.

Tante Olga adjusted the rolled-up sleeves of her peach-colored blouse as she considered Sabrina's words.

"Well, if it's that important to you, we can certainly look into it when you're older," the senior metallurgist finally said, and while Sabrina knew the elder witch thought that was a good compromise, it wasn't satisfactory in the slightest. She didn't want to wait until she was older—she wanted to do her research now, while the ideas were fresh in her mind.

However, knowing there was nothing more she could do at that moment, she dipped her head in acknowledgment of Tante Olga's suggestion and turned back to her work even as another thought rose unbidden in her mind.

There was another course of action she could take...however, even considering it made her stomach feel queasy and her head ache. She purposefully avoided going to her mother for help, preferring to solve any problems that arose herself, mostly because she was capable of doing so, but also because she didn't want the other witches to think her mother handled everything for her or that she received special treatment due to her mother's position.

Then again, regardless of how she felt about the situation, Sabrina's mother was the Sprechen, the leader of the entire coven. While she worked with the other members of the High Council to govern the castle and the affairs of the witches who lived there, she also wielded enormous power on her own, frequently making unilateral decisions that didn't warrant the attention of the entire Council.

Normally Sabrina would have been loathe to accept anything she hadn't earned or otherwise acquired herself, but she also knew the older witches tended to view her as being too young to know what she really wanted, which led them to not take her ideas seriously. If a well-placed word from her mother could ensure her the space she wanted, then perhaps she could deal with the embarrassment of actually going to her mother and requesting her help.

Marlene had been the Sprechen for as long as Sabrina could remember, since before Sabrina had been born, according to what she'd been told. For a while, there had been talk of voting in a new Sprechen every year, but everyone seemed content to let Marlene keep the position. Whether this was because no one else genuinely wanted the responsibilities of leadership or simply didn't wish to challenge her mother and lose—or perhaps worse, win—Sabrina wasn't certain.

She was certain, though, that at some point her mother had become synonymous with the role and would retain it until she chose to retire, at which point she would name her successor.

Me, she thought sourly, her lips twisting into an unhappy expression. She'll name me her successor. Whether I want her to or not.

When it came to her daughter, Sprechen Marlene only saw one future and that did not involve a workroom...it involved Sabrina following in her footsteps and eventually taking over as the most prominent member of the High Council.

And here was the constant struggle Sabrina could never escape, a struggle far more difficult than trying to get her own workspace...the struggle to live her life as she wished, to make her own choices about her future.

Sabrina had a clear idea of what she wanted for herself, just as she had a very clear idea of what her mother wanted for her, yet some part of her still clung to the hope that there was a middle ground she hadn't yet discovered, a way she could make her own choices while also pleasing her mother. That was why she'd never outright refuted the pointed suggestions and less-than-subtle insinuations...she chose her battles, maintaining a delicate balance that, even though tense, still seemed better than all-out warfare.

Wiping off her tools and tidying up her workspace, Sabrina lamented yet again she hadn't been born different than she was. She felt guilty about not liking the things she believed she should like, ashamed at not having ambitions of power, and embarrassed at not wanting what was waiting to be served to her on a proverbial silver platter...leadership of the entire Hexen.

But try as she did, no matter how often she lectured herself or resolved to feel differently, Sabrina simply couldn't make herself care. She felt nothing but a sense of tedious exhaustion at the thought of overseeing the coven, being involved in large schemes and small details, listening to the problems of others, and working together to find communal solutions. Being the Sprechen meant offering everything of yourself to serve the coven, as her mother did, because that's what the best leaders did.

But Sabrina didn't want to be a leader. She didn't want to sacrifice any part of herself for something as ephemeral and intangible as "the greater good." She wanted to live her own life, choose her own path, and follow her passions without worrying if she was letting someone down or not doing enough to ensure the safety and survival of others. It didn't matter that she was capable of managing such immense responsibility—the fact of the matter was, she didn't want to.

And in her mother's eyes, that was completely unacceptable.

Groaning to herself, Sabrina walked over to the shelves of damaged goods and selected the next item in need of repair, grateful for an excuse to put her current thoughts aside and focus on something she actually had the power to change.

Picture by blickpixel from Pixabay