The Portrait Pact

Sienna Rosewood crept along the moonlit cliffside path, the sea wind tugging at her cloak like an urgent whisper. Crickets sang their night lullaby as the stars glittered above, but Sienna wasn’t looking up. She was late—dangerously late—and she knew it. Midnight was near, and she needed to be back inside Goulhearth School before the bell tolled twelve.

The dragons hadn’t shown. Not one. The monthly summoning circle had gone unanswered. Her gamble on that old legend—some tale about enchanted paintings and hidden portals—might cost her everything. Her scholarship. Her room. Her standing with the magical council. All for what? A stupid bet with Birdie Mandrake.

As she reached the entrance to the old lighthouse-turned-academy, she paused, half-expecting to see Headmistress Goldfinch's beady eyes peering through the crack in the door. But the threshold yawned silent and empty.

Inside, the enchanted halls of Goulhearth stretched downward, deeper than any muggle structure ever could. Crates of spellbooks, cursed trinkets, hourglasses, and bottled thunder lined the walls. Her footsteps echoed like drumbeats in a tomb.

At the girls' dormitory, she stopped before the enchanted painting—Salazar’s Brew. She touched the frame. Knocked. Whispered the spell. Nothing. She tried again. And again. The moon struck twelve.

“Oh, clever girl,” a voice drawled behind her.

Sienna jumped. The voice came from a painting nearby—a smoky tavern scene with shadowed figures.

“That’s not how you do it,” another voice teased, giddy and unhelpful. “She missed her window.”

Suddenly, faces stirred across the corridor. Dozens of portraits began to come alive—sneering, snickering, whispering.

Sienna’s heart raced. The rules were clear: never touch a painting without permission. Not all were friendly. Some weren’t even sane.

“You’re late, and rules are rules,” one painting chided.

She backed away until a soft, smoky voice called to her from a gilded frame. “Child… help an old witch out.”

A green-shawled woman no taller than a teacup sat in the frame, eyes glowing with eerie warmth. Sienna stepped closer, entranced by the hazy glow that reached out from the painting.

“Just a touch,” the witch whispered.

Their hands met.

With a surge of magic, the woman stepped out of the painting.

Her frame vanished. Her body grew, adorned in velvet and jewels the size of apples. One by one, other portraits followed. Witches and wizards poured into the hall like smoke from shattered glass. Laughter, clinking wands, the rustle of robes—centuries of sorcery spilled back into the real world.

“What have I done?” Sienna gasped.

The woman in green smiled. “What you were meant to. These souls were sealed away long ago—powerful, yes, but misunderstood. Cast into art for being too bold, too curious.”

More frames emptied: Claire Gristlewald’s Boundless Broomsticks, Speakeasy Secrets and Risky Rituals, Madam Moody’s Ghoulish Menagerie… names whispered in magical history, now walking free.

“You may be punished for this,” the woman said, “or you may be praised. It depends who tells the story.”

Sienna’s fingers trembled. “Will I… remember any of this?”

The woman ran a nail down her cheek. “You will. And when the time comes, you’ll understand. For now, sleep.”

The world spun. Blackness fell.


---

She awoke in her bed. No alarms. No shouts. The dorm was quiet. Sunlight spilled lazily across her pillow.

A dream?

Sienna touched her cheek. It tingled.

She crept into the hallway, stopping by the green-shawled witch’s painting. It was still. Silent. The nameplate read:

“The Peculiar Witches’ Guide: Memorials of Dreams, Hidden Meanings, and Second Chances. Head Witch: Pearle Stagheart. Circa 1548.”

The witch didn’t speak. But Sienna could have sworn—just for a heartbeat—she winked.

Some secrets weren’t meant to be believed. They were meant to be lived.

Sienna stepped back, hand tightening on the satchel slung over her shoulder. Outside, beyond the door, her dragon Percy waited—loyal, silent, watchful. And the next mystery of Goulhearth had already begun calling her name.