A familiar, sweet smell and a taste of love. She brings the cup to her lips, feeling the heat rising as goosebumps coil down her legs and arms. She closes her eyes, listening to the cat’s playful pounce and serenity of the dog’s snore.
Tick, tick, tick. Each one goes left. The game should be easy by now, but then this is not a game. And the pieces are people.
The air gathers in a gentle warm breeze. Center of the spire, a blinding light stands, radiating tendrils down the corridors of the spire. The witch sits with book in hand, ever waiting.