Jealousy. That’s what Maria felt.

“Did you all hear his voice?”

“Yes, Maria. We were all supposed to hear it.”

Maria looked at the witches gathered around Zita. The voice had belonged to all of them for those few moments, and the thought disturbed her. She could still remember its sound, the strange familiarity, the feeling that its owner belonged to her.

The preparations for her birthday had begun. Maria was certain he would be there.

“Is Maria not coming with me to school anymore?” Amada asked.

“No, Amada. Maria needs to prepare. The professors will be coming to the house to give her lessons,” Lúcia answered.

“I want to stay home as well.”

“That is fine, my dear. I’ll arrange it. Will you help us with Maria’s birthday celebration?”

“Can I help tomorrow? I’d like to stay by the pool reading today.”

“Of course, my dear. Enjoy your day.”

Lúcia hugged her daughter and kissed her forehead.

There were no obligations in Lúcia’s affection. She saw beyond appearances and accepted people for who they were. Lúcia was love and understanding.

During the following days, the house filled with women.

Some arrived carrying baskets of flowers, others brought candles, fabrics and sealed wooden boxes. The witches gathered around the dining table, writing invitations in languages Maria had never seen.

Lúcia worked beside them, arranging the flowers and organising the celebration. The women prepared the food, polished the silver and carried fresh linen through the corridors. The witches took care of the magick.

At sunset, the invitations were sealed with dark wax. Each bore a symbol pressed into its surface.

“Where are they going?” Maria asked.

“To those who have been waiting for you,” Zita answered.

“Waiting for me?”

“Your fifteenth birthday is important, my child.”

“Why?”

“Because a new cycle is beginning.”

Maria examined one of the envelopes.

“Will he receive one?”

Zita raised her eyes.

“Who?”

Maria returned the envelope to the table.

“The Master.”

For several moments, Zita watched her.

“He knows when to come, Maria.”

The dress was prepared in one of the upstairs rooms.

Lúcia worked on the fabric while the witches embroidered symbols into the lining. Fine threads passed through their fingers as they whispered words beneath their breath.

Maria stood beside the table, watching.

“Will the symbols be visible?”

“Only to those who know where to look,” Zita answered.

One of the witches held the dress against Maria’s shoulders. Another adjusted the fabric around her waist.

“The stitching must be finished before sunset on the nineteenth,” Zita instructed.

Lúcia nodded and continued her work.

Maria touched the embroidery.

“What will happen when I wear it?”

“You will understand when the time comes.”

Maria lowered her hand.

“You always say that.”

Zita smiled faintly.

“Because you always ask.”

Outside, the afternoon clouds gathered over the garden. The curtains moved in the wind, carrying the smell of rain into the room.

Maria turned towards the window.

For a moment, she stood motionless.

“Maria?” Lúcia called.

Maria looked back.

“Did you hear something?”

Lúcia shook her head.

The witches exchanged glances.

Maria remained beside the window until Zita called her away.

By the nineteenth of May, the house was ready.

Candles stood along the corridors. Flowers surrounded the entrance, and the rooms carried the heavy fragrance of incense and freshly cut greenery.

The dress hung beside Maria’s bed.

Downstairs, the witches completed their preparations while Lúcia supervised the final arrangements.

Maria had spent much of the afternoon alone.

She sat on her bed, looking towards the open window. Her books lay untouched beside her.

Then she lifted her head.

“You’re here.”

She waited.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?”

The curtains stirred.

Maria listened.

“Yes, I know.”

She lowered her eyes, smiling at something only she could hear.

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.

“Please.”

For a long moment, Maria said nothing.

Then she laughed softly, covering her mouth with one hand.

“You can’t say things like that to me.”

Silence followed.

Maria stood and walked towards the mirror.

“Do you know what I look like?”

She touched her hair, carefully arranging it over her shoulders.

“Really?”

Her cheeks reddened.

“Nobody has ever spoken to me like that.”

She turned towards the window again.

“I wish I could see you.”

The evening wind moved through the room. Maria closed her eyes, listening.

When she opened them, there were tears gathering along her lashes.

“I think about you all the time.”

She waited, her expression changing as though she were following a conversation.

“Does that mean you think about me too?”

A smile slowly returned to her face.

Maria placed one hand against her chest.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

The room grew darker as the last daylight disappeared beyond the garden.

She whispered something too quietly to be understood, then waited for an answer.

A familiar voice interrupted her.

“Maria?”

Zita stood in the doorway.

Maria turned towards her, startled.

Zita looked at the open window, the untouched books and the expression on Maria’s face.

“Are you talking to the Master?”