Witch Song

A Witch with a weak song is barely a Witch at all.

In part. She sat down and pulled her necklace out of her shirt. "I read about it in my mother's journal. The Witches believe we are all parts of a whole. Like the phases of the moon. Together, we complete the circle and bring balance.

He studied her lips like they were a riddle he desperately needed to solve.

Without asking, he moved behind her and brushed her hair over her shoulder. Drawing the necklace around her neck, he fastened the clasp. The amber felt cool against her sweltering skin. Lifting it, she rotated the pendant, watching as it caught the light. "It's lovely." Before she could change her mind, she dug into her pocket and shoved the rest of the coins into his hand.

Something soft turn to stone within her. She had no choice. She had to fight. She had to win. She would learn. And then she'd free them. Or join them.

Good and evil, joy and sorrow. All things strive for balance. And that means good and bad things end.

She wasn't totally unaware of herself, though. She knew there was pain, but in the same way she knew the sun was hot. It was far away and only tendrils of it reached her.

She shivered as the wind’s fingers painted her skin silver with moonlight.

He shrugged. “Wardof didn’t say and I didn’t