The young woman wears her emotions outward, while the Witch swallows hers down like the most horrible tonic. The Witch helps where she is able, all while trying to learn the young woman's part. But every time they're swallowed down, glass littering the floor.
She traced her finger along the tome, trying to make out the words. Ink blots and chicken scratch concealed their knowledge. Her past wont give up secrets so easily. She snaps the book closed with resounding boom through the halls, knowing someone who would.