The Witch’s Aid

“Camilla, you must see reason — this is n’t just a curiosity to be toyed with, ” the woman claimed, her voice low and laden with secrets as she stepped from the murk of the worsening corridor. I stood in the sparsely lit chamber of our safehouse, the unstable artifact resting on a scarred rustic table between us. My palpitation pounded in my ears as I eyed the stranger a deserter from the veritably circle we’d formerly stressed, her eyes glinting with both defiance ...