It’s hard to accept that the person you once called your best friend is the traitor. After the maha-pūjan ended, I bowed down, taking blessings from the deities, Gurumaa, and my fellow witches (my people now). 

My new family.

The next morning appeared almost magical. I still hadn’t learned to control my powers, so the thought of visiting Gurumaa lingered heavy in my mind. My magic burned inside me, sometimes too wild, sometimes too cruel, it even hurt me.

Golden sun rays spilled into my house like a shower of blessings, as though the sky itself wished me success. Birds hopped and chirped around, their voices filling the air with life. 

For a moment, I wondered “is revenge really the only thing?” Revenge is the purest fire, yes, but it devours everything in its path.

Then I remembered my grandmother’s agony, the pain she endured before dying in the Blackthorn woods. That memory alone was enough. 

Some acts are worth revenge.

I spent a while outside, letting nature calm me, before I prepared to visit Gurumaa. But the moment I stepped out of my house, someone was already waiting.

It was… Mayuri.

The sight of her ignited a storm inside me. Rage shot through my veins. My eyes caught the vase lying near the doorway, and for a second my hands yearned to smash it against her skull. But I swallowed it back. Not yet.

She walked closer, her voice honey-sweet:
“I’m so sorry yaar… mujhe yaad tha tera birthday, but main aa hi nahi paayi. Tu ne party rakhi thi na? Cake khilayegi mujhe?”

I forced a smile, my words dripping control.
“Haan… tujhe kaise bhool sakti hoon?”

Her eyes sparkled as she asked, “Waise tu jaa kaha rahi hai? Main bhi saath chalun?”

And that’s when the plan hatched inside me, sharper than a thorn.

I was going to the Blackthorn woods anyway. Now I had the perfect reason.

“Wahi… ek ajeeb si cheez dekhi thi maine wahan. Tu bhi chal, tujhe dikhati hoon,” I said, hiding the venom in my tone.

Mayuri smiled, unsuspecting. She had no idea the forest wasn’t just waiting for me anymore. It was waiting for her.

The forest was still when we entered. Lantern light swayed against the walls of blackthorn, shadows dancing like restless spirits. Mayuri walked beside me, clueless, chattering like nothing had changed.

But the Blackthorn knew. It could smell the parasite.

I stopped in the clearing where the trees bent inwards, forming a dark circle. My smile curled sweet as honey. “Bas yahin ruk,” I told her.

She looked confused, then startled, when the first branch moved. Blackthorn vines slithered alive, hissing as they coiled around her wrists and ankles. She screamed, “Bhairavi! Yeh kya kar rahi hai?!”

I stepped closer, my voice calm, almost tender.
“Bas wohi jo ek Queen apne parasite ke saath karti hai.”

The branches lashed, tearing at her skin. Blood trickled down her arms, staining the soil. Every scream echoed through the woods, but the forest didn’t flinch, it listened.

I leaned to her ear, whispering curses that dripped like poison:
“Feel it… har jhoot jo tune bola, har plan jo tune mere khilāf banāya. Tujhe ab woh sab dobārā jeena hoga.”

Her eyes widened, horror swallowing her voice. She saw her own lies unraveling in the dark, every word, every betrayal, until she begged, until she screamed my name.

But my smile only grew colder.

Then I summoned it, "the Crown of Thorns". Black vines twisted from the soil, dripping thick sap like blood. They shaped themselves into a wreath, pulsing with the forest’s breath.

I lifted it slowly, reverently, as though it were a sacred crown.

“Tu sochti thi main tere jaisi dost rakhungi? Nahi, Mayuri. Tu banegi Blackthorn ka pehla chadhava.”

I placed it on her head.

For one second, she almost looked royal. Then the thorns tightened.

They pierced her skull. Blood trickled, then gushed, mixing with the soil. Her body convulsed, then fell still. The forest drank greedily, roots sighing as they feasted.

Crows shrieked from the treetops. The thorns grew sharper, blacker, glistening with her blood.

And me? I just stood there, calm, watching the forest claim its sacrifice.

That night, I wasn’t just crowned. I was chosen.
Not just the Queen of Blackthorn,
I was its executioner.

The forest whispered my name differently now. With fear. With reverence. With blood.