Coffee. My favorite. Especially in the kitchen in Wilding Springs, Mom perched across from me sipping her own sweet and creamy, GreatGram hunched over a massive cup no sane person would drink from, Nanna with her graceful hands wrapped around the black one I got her for Christmas that proclaimed her the Best Grandmother Ever.

How domestic and normal of us to sit there with our hot mugs the focus, no one speaking, not really, maybe the odd bit and piece of coven life passed ...