She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her long, unkempt hair fell in front of her face as she began to chant. Harsh words poured from her dry, cracked lips. A foreign tongue. A lost magic. And as she whispered and mumbled and croaked, the room seemed to darken and a fine blue mist seeped from her fingers. It wound slowly around her long, broken fingernails before it fell, pooling heavily around her naked feet.

She shifted her weight back and forth, ankles cracking. Her hands moved in soft, fluid motions. Her voice rose, the words clattering against the windows, and the mist turned a darker and darker shade of blue.

"M-Ms. Pratt?" ________ said, backing towards the door. "I th-think we ought to be going now. No need to bother her any longer."

"No," Elizabeth said, staring hard at the haggard woman standing before her. "We'll leave when we get what we came for."

The witch stopped muttering. Her fingers continued to twirl, and mist continued to gather at her feet, but a quiet stillness fell over the rest of the shack. She slowly raised her head and opened her eyes. Rich purple irises shone through the dark tangles of her hair, and a deep voice broke the silence.

"You'll leave now, girl," the witch said, and she threw up her arms.

The windows all flew open at once. Glass shattered, and splinters of wood shot into the air from the force. The wind, quiet and calm only a moment ago, roared and howled as it came careening in, blowing the witch's rags around her and forcing Elizabeth and ________ to the floor.