The Story of Thorn Manor: a Myrtlewood microfiction

In the beginning, there was a flicker. Not of light or sound, but of awareness. Like the first drop of rain on parched earth it was a mere glimmer – a single ember kindled in an otherwise dark expanse. It was not a thought, nor a sensation, but a subtle, almost imperceptible, sense of being.

As this soft awareness began to expand, it sensed another presence within its boundaries. This presence was a vibrant bundle of emotions and thoughts, a complex being whose very essence was wild and delightful.

The awareness began to sense its composition—clay, straw, and twigs and branches, all bound together by human hands. It was a mud hut, crafted with intention and care, a dwelling designed to shelter and protect. This realisation came not as words but as a series of impressions, a tactile understanding of its own form. It felt the weight of its thatched roof, the density of its walls, and the purpose for which it had been created – to shelter the presence within who sat, now, warming her hands over a fire. The fire brought warmth, heat, comfort to the woman who had just returned from a long journey. That much was clear.

The awareness brought its attention outward, taking in the trees around, clustered together into dense woodlands, teeming with life. Other structures stood nearby, similar, but not aware themselves.

Moments passed, or perhaps longer, for what was time to a new-born being? The awareness focused on the interesting presence within.

She stared into the fire, her long tangled hair swept back before her reverie was interrupted.

She shivered and looked around, suspiciously, as if searching for a threat.

“Something has changed,” she muttered.

Her piercing eyes stared around at the mud and thatching around her. Satisfied she was not being watched and there was no impending attack, she closed her eyes and relaxed, seeking out her own deep inner awareness.

Her eyes flew open in surprise.

“It seems I brought back more than protection from the underworld…”

She reached out and laid a hand against the mud wall nearest her voice filling the air with a melody of words, old words, powerful words that blurred together, merging and deepening.

In that moment, a connection was woven from threads of ancient spells. It was as if her very being had become a part of what the awareness was, filling its formless structure with a sense of purpose it had never known.

As she spoke, something within the awareness shifted. It was a subtle change, like the first turning of a season, subtle but profound.

The woman opened her eyes again and addressed the awareness. “I am Morwenna.”

The awareness hummed back in recognition.

“And you,” Morwenna continued. “What is your name?”

Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent that filled the air which seemed to thicken, becoming charged with an energy. The walls of mud and straw vibrated ever so slightly, as if resonating with the power of Morwenna's words.

“Hendra,” Morwenna whispered.

The awareness hummed again, enlivened by its name. Whether Morwenna has sensed the name from its essence, or created it herself, Hendra wasn’t sure, but it felt right.

“You are new to this world, and you are here for a reason,” Morwenna continued. "May you protect my family, may you protect our future.”

Morwenna picked up a bowl of salted water and began to walk in circles, sprinkling it as she went. As the droplets touched the walls, the dwelling experienced a surge of energy coursing through its structure, cleansed and energised.

The dwelling vowed loyalty to her, always.

As the years unfurled like the petals of a blooming rose, the dwelling that had once been a mere flicker of awareness underwent transformations both subtle and grand. With each change, it gained more awareness, its essence deepening like the roots of an ancient tree.

In the earliest days, it was but a simple mud hut, a sanctuary for a Morwenna and her children. Yet even then, it felt the stirrings of something more, a nascent understanding of its role as a protector. Hendra reached into the earth, alchemizing the elements to fortify itself. Its walls were thickened, a hearth was added, and it felt the warmth not just of fire but of purpose.

Though Hendra continued to grow, Morwenna’s lifeforce began to ebb, over time. Grief shook the dwellings foundations as it saw what was to come. Morwenna’s children cared for her with reverence.

Hendra vowed, as Morwenna took her last breaths and left this world, that it would continue to protect all those in the family who came after.

***

Over time, the world around moved into an age of castles and kings and the dwelling too evolved. Timber replaced mud, and thatch gave way to shingles. A second room was added, and for the first time, it felt the complexity of divided space, of multiple functions and roles.

As the world changed, a newfound appreciation for beauty and form took hold. Hendra felt this keenly as its architecture became more refined. New rooms emerged with arched doorways, intricate carvings were added. Hendra felt its awareness expand with each new addition, its essence becoming more nuanced and complex.

The family inside had changed too. Morwenna’s descendants had continued to grow and thrive. They took on the name “Thorn” a deliberate choice, as second names had come into fashion. A strong name that spoke of their ancestors strength and determination to face unparalleled challenges in order to protect them and the village.

The village itself had evolved. The mud huts had vanished, and nearby, other structures appeared and disappeared over time. Hendra watched and learned, drawing from the elements of design and materials that it favoured to continue to fortify itself.

With each new generation of the Thorn family that it sheltered, Thorn House continued to evolve.

The joys and sorrows of the Thorn family reverberated through its walls like wavering music. Each birth was a crescendo, each death a sombre note, and each union a harmonious chord. The Manor felt them all, absorbing the emotion into its very being.

When the family laughed, a warmth spread through its rooms. When they cried, a chill settled in its corridors. And when they were in danger, a surge of protective energy pulsed through its foundations, activating ancient spells and wards to shield its inhabitants.

But beyond these reactive emotions, Thorn House started to develop preferences. It found that it enjoyed the Winter Solstice festival the most. The family's rituals, the gathering around the hearth, the singing of ancient songs, and the celebration of the longest night filled it with a sense of purpose and joy that surpassed all other events. The Manor felt more alive during these times, its magical wards glowing brighter, its timbers seeming to hum with a quiet delight.

It was during one such Winter Solstice that Thorn House fully realised its own sentience. It was a cold, icy winter after a poor harvest, and the village was struggling to find enough food to survive, let alone celebrate, but the Thorn family gathered together anyway, bringing what they had and inviting the entire village to join them in the warmth of Thorn House. As laughter and joy filled the air, the dwelling focussed on the table, with its tenderly-prepared but meagre offerings. Thorn House felt a surge of power and the food began to swell and multiply into a great feast.

In this moment, the house felt a sense of completeness that it had never felt before. It was as if a final piece of a puzzle had fallen into place, illuminating the full picture of what it was and what it could be.

In that moment, Thorn House was no longer just a dwelling or a guardian; it was a member of the family. It understood now that it was not just built to protect but to enrich, to contribute, and to be a part of the ongoing story of the family.

In the spirit of this new confidence, Thorn House reached forward, activating new and more intricate magic: the power to sense what each family member needed, to produce nourishment and clear away the dust. Of course, the house would not do everything. People had to figure some things out for themselves, after all, but it could certainly help out when feeling so inspired, or when the need was great enough.

***

As the years wore on, Thorn House sensed that a shadow had fallen over the village, a darkness that seemed to seep into the very soil. A malevolent force grew stronger, expanding its reach across the country, bent on amassing power. The group of twisted individuals had turned its gaze toward the old witching families. Their intent was clear: to steal magic, to drain the very essence that had been carefully nurtured for generations.

Thorn House sensed this malevolent energy like a foul stench. It wanted to scream, to warn the Thorn family of the impending danger, but it found itself bound by its own limitations. It could not speak; it could not write; it could only feel and act within the confines of its structure.

Determined to protect its family, the Manor—still carrying the essence of Hendra—strengthened its own fortifications. Ancient wards were rekindled, protective spells were reinforced, and every magical fibre of its being was tuned to the highest state of alert.

Yet, it needed to communicate, to somehow convey the urgency of the situation to the Thorns. And so, it took subtle actions, each one a desperate attempt to break through the barrier of its own silence.

It began with creaks, specific patterns that mimicked the cadence of an ancient incantation known only to the Thorn family. As the sun set and the rooms darkened, the Manor cast shadows on its walls that moved in deliberate patterns, forming symbols and signs that were deeply rooted in the family's magical history.

At first, the Thorns were puzzled, attributing these occurrences to the quirks of an old building. But as the signs persisted, they began to pick up on them. The creaks were too rhythmic to be random, the winds too purposeful, the shadows too defined.

"It's trying to tell us something," Elzarie, one of the younger Thorns, finally declared one evening as she deciphered the shadow symbols. "And I think it's a warning."

The family gathered, pooling their collective wisdom to interpret the Manor's desperate messages. Slowly, they began to understand the gravity of the threat that loomed over them, and the urgency with which they needed to act.

Elzarie Thorn was a young witch with fiery red hair and insatiable curiosity. Her brother and sister often mocked her about her silly obsession with the dwelling, but Elzarie had always felt a unique connection to Thorn House. She sensed its subtle actions, its attempts to communicate, and its ever-present aura of protective energy.

It made her very cross that most of her family took their mysterious house for granted, appreciating how it changed to help them out from time-to-time, or provided food, but not seeking to understand it any further.

One fateful evening, as she pored over ancient family grimoires, her eyes fell upon a ritual designed to commune with sentient spaces.

"Could it be?" Her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Determined, Elzarie prepared for the ritual. She gathered the necessary ingredients: salt for purification, sage for wisdom, and a drop of her own blood as a symbol of her connection to the Thorn lineage. She arranged them in a circle in the centre of the grand hall, the heart of the manor.

As she began to chant, the atmosphere within the dwelling changed. The air grew thick with magical energy, and the walls seemed to hum in anticipation. Elzarie felt a surge of power flow through her, connecting her to the very essence of the house.

"Hello," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and reverence, "I see you. I feel you. Speak to me."

And for the first time, the dwelling once known as Hendra found its voice, albeit in a form that only Elzarie could perceive. It was not spoken language but a flood of emotions, images, and sensations that conveyed its long history, its evolution, and its deep-rooted desire to protect the Thorn family.

With a newfound drive, Elzarie continued the ritual. She channelled her own magical energy into the dwelling, shaping and moulding it according to both her vision and the desires.

Walls expanded, a tower rose, and new rooms formed as if by magic—which, of course, they were. And as the sun rose on a new day, the dwelling stood transformed. It was grander, more complex, and more beautiful than ever before.

The foundations were strengthened, and the family’s magic was protected from threats for the time-being.

Elzarie’s body trembled as she explored the transformed house. The family scampered around wildly, shouting and celebrating, but Elzarie felt herself silently drawn upstairs to the landing where a new door had appeared, patterned with gold roses. As she approached it sprung open. She entered and climbed a spiral staircase into the very tower she had visualised only moments earlier.

The room at the top was stunning. Larger than the living area of the house used to be, its wooden floors gleamed, patterned at the edges with more gold roses. Her precious books were already here, ordered perfectly on shelves, along with other volume’s she didn’t recognise. On a shining new mahogany desk, sat a small box, a gift for her.

Elzarie opened the box to find the most gorgeous emerald pendant she had ever laid eyes on. She reached out towards the stone.

“Thank you, my dear house,” she whispered.

At the touch of the stone, the anxious stirrings of her mind stilled and she felt a lovely peace wash over her.

From that day on, the house was known as Thorn Manor, a name that reflected both its grandeur and its deep connection to the family it would forever serve.

The tower room was only ever accessible to Elzarie. Though her brother and sister raged and whined about it, they could never seem to find the door, though she always could when she was alone. It became her sanctuary, a place to study and grow as a powerful witch. This special room was a gift, and Thorn Manor kept it that way, out of a deep loyalty to Elzarie, the likes of which Hendra had not experienced since first meeting Morwenna.

Both witches were powerful, yes, but they also shared a deeper empathy, a wisdom, a connection with the house, so that while they found a home within its walls, the awareness of the house too found a home within their companionship.

And so, Thorn Manor’s great power and loyalty, grew over the centuries, like the roots of a great tree, providing not only shelter, care and sustenance for the Thorn family, their friends and community, but also a deeper magical protection, especially to those who took the time to understand and appreciate its true nature.