Tales of Wondrously Wicked Witches: The Tales Short Story Collection, #5

Copyright © 2024 by T.A.L.E.S.

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author,

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Contents

1.Letter from the Librarian

2.12th day of Everstar in the year of King Brailin

3.3rd day of Mistrian in the year of King Brailin

4.9th day of Freyna in the year of King Brailin

5.The Goddess of Second Chances

6.A Fistfull of SpaceTime

7.Supernatural Elements 

8.If The Shoe Fits A Howlin’ Good Time

9.Miriam and Luna

10.Coffee & Curses

11.Violet

12.The Shenanigans of Witches

13.The Witch at the Edge of the Wood

14.Grimoire Chronicles

15.Recipe

Letter from the Librarian

Hello, my dear fabulous Patron and Reader,

Time for the end of the fiscal year annual report. This is seriously my favorite report since I have the opportunity to give you all a full in-depth review of all the things we have been doing this year. In case you are new to us, which I do not know how that could possibly happen since this is by invitation only kind of location, our fiscal year runs from October first to September thirtieth. 

While I’m clarifying things, let me quickly introduce myself to those of you who don’t know me. I’m The Librarian for T.A.L.E.S., and we are the largest repository of information in both the human and the supernatural world. Always remember, the L stands for Library, that one always gives people trouble. T.A.L.E.S. itself is a sentient being, as you are all well aware. We have entrances across many universes and are always on the lookout for the latest and greatest sources of information around. 

Now, back to the state of T.A.L.E.S. address. It is my extreme pleasure to announce that this year we have gathered over two and a half million new books from across Earth alone. From outside of this world we have… wait… hold on a minute.

T.A.L.E.S., you want me to give them an update on Maggie? No, you do not have to jump in. I can fill them in myself.

For those of you who received last quarter’s report. We have a new resident at T.A.L.E.S., the charming (and too excited) soul of Maggie. Maggie has officially been moved from the Archives, since none of our interns or librarians could focus while playing with her. She is now at the Children’s Section, in her own miniature Sleeping Beauty Castle. 

Yes, T.A.L.E.S., I remember Mr. Walt gifted his castle in Florida to us. But remember his executors were not too happy when we tried to relocate it. Let’s just stick with a miniature one. Is not like Maggie is going to outgrow it.

Not to mention the miniature castle is two stories tall. Way too big for a child, even if this one can float around. Fortunately for us, the funds for the constructions were all donated by that fabulous 5000-year-old talking cat, Constantine and the Reapers Crew. Happy, Constantine? you got your quarterly shout-out! 

Can I get back to my report? Thank you!

Now what? What is that noise? 

Are you kidding me, T.A.L.E.S.? We have witches boycotting our Salem entrance. Why? Lack of representation in our reports? Seriously?

Let me take a deep breath here. My dear readers, I was planning to surprise you by letting you know that this October we were going to celebrate the contributions of the many witches and warlocks that have graced our pages. I even worked on a small poem to go with their stories. Unfortunately, I need to stop some raids before they burn down the books in that area. In the meantime, please enjoy the rest of the report. I’ll let my interns handle the introductions of the stories. 

Thank you for your patronage- The Librarian

Intern notes:

Jamie: Hey DC, this was a fun report. Do you think we should recommend to the Librarian that she should feature retellings in her next one?

DC: Are you crazy? You know how big of a purist she is for fairy tales. Besides, if she finds out we both took part in the Once Upon a Curse Series, we would be in serious trouble.

Jamie: Do you think she would fire us?

DC: Fire us? Please! There is no parole out of hell. We are pretty stuck here. 

Jamie: I thought you said Constantine was your friend?

DC: I have a feeling his definition of friends and mine are very different. What do you say we go check out how the boycott is going?

Jamie: I’m in. I doubt she would notice if the report is late. 

12th day of Everstar in the year of King Brailin

Personal grimoire of Amara, student of the mystic arts. But I suppose you gathered that since you're reading this.

I'm scribbling these first lines bundled under the covers while my roommates sleep on this, my very first night at Willow School. It's nestled deep within the legendary Dark Forest - yes, THE Willow School of magic and enchantment. I still can't believe I'm actually here.

You're probably wondering how I wound up in such a serious, scholarly place. Believe me, I never expected to be studying spells and scrying. I come from a tiny village you've never heard of, where magic only existed in fireside tales.

But peculiar things started happening around me as a child - flowers blooming in my footsteps, visions of events yet to come, imaginary friends who seemed just a bit too real. Mother brushed it off, but part of her worried. She knew something I didn't.

The truth emerged when I was 14 and a plague struck our village. As Mother desperately prepared remedies, I had a vivid dream revealing the complex cure. To my shock, we brewed the potion exactly as I envisioned, and it worked! Mother never looked at me the same after that.

She revealed our family's magical lineage then, and cautiously taught me minor healing spells passed down long ago. But it soon became clear I needed proper schooling she couldn't provide. The visions came more frequently now, offering glimpses of events near and far. I had to learn to understand and control this power.

So on my 18th birthday, I begged her through tears to let me attend Willow and fully embrace my talents. Weary but loving, she agreed it was time I followed my destiny.

We journeyed through the Dark Forest, the bewitched land that surrounds the school, but beneath its beauty lurked an unease - we glimpsed flashing lights filtering through the trees and heard echoes of shouts. Mother's hand tightened on mine as we quickened our pace.

We soon came upon a merchant wagon overturned, its occupants scrambling to gather their spilled wares. They spoke of masked men who levitated objects and disappeared in blurs. Rogues with unnatural powers, no doubt. And we are helpless without Willow's protections, the merchant lamented.

The encounter lingered in my mind as we walked on. Were these rogues connected to the school? 

At last we came to Willow's carved gates, which creaked open before I could knock. There standing in welcome was Headmistress Laurel, almost as if she had foreseen my arrival. Mother held me tight, whispering Mind yourself, child. Then with a push, I crossed the threshold into my new life, thoughts swirling about the mysteries of this divided realm I now walked.

I paced my chamber that first night, thoughts spinning anxiously about the future. But sunrise brought the steady chatter of fellow students, all drawn here by magic's call.

My first charm class was a disaster, singeing my eyebrows completely off! But each failure teaches me something new. I record it all here nightly by candlelight, documenting every lesson this journey brings, joyous or vexing.

Headmistress gifted me this blank journal, saying it was meant to be filled. She tells me to write down my visions as I learn to unravel their meaning. This book shall be my personal grimoire, a record of my magical education and the mysteries still to be uncovered. I don’t know what I will actually write in this. I’ve never been very good at making habits that last for long, but perhaps that’s how it should be. Just the important bits. 

3rd day of Mistrian in the year of King Brailin

Itold you I was terrible at keeping habits long term. See, I didn’t even make it to day two! Perhaps I don’t need to keep this daily, just the important bits. It's been one full fortnight since I arrived at Willow School. The days have passed in a blur of lessons. My mind overflows with all I have learned, yet it seems only a sprinkle compared to the vast ocean of the arcane arts.

I am grateful for this journal Laurel gifted me to record it all. She says the keeping of a personal grimoire is tradition for blossoming mages. So by candlelight each night, I should fill its pages with my studies and reflections. I hope one day it provides insight to those who walk this path after me.

My roommates, three bubbly girls from the western valleys, make friendly company. We stay up late giggling over sweets from home and discussing spells we simply must try. Last night, Alesia enchanted the laundry to fold itself.

Of course, some nights I crave solitude and retreat here to my writing nook beneath the dormitory stairs. It reminds me of my own cozy alcove at home, where I would curl up with books of fanciful myths borrowed from traveling bards. How I miss my parents, their wisdom, their warm embrace. But I know they would only encourage me to grow and develop my skills for the greater good.

My classes challenge me each day. Potions Master Aldwin seems particularly stern, his craggy eyebrows furrowing at my explosive concoctions. I struggle to calibrate the delicacy required. But Laurel assures me I will find my method in time. Not all magic comes naturally at first, even for those born with the gift. We must practice patience and perseverance.

I am in my element in Botanical Studies, where kind Mistress Eyre guides us through the greenhouse grounds. My mother's apothecary knowledge serves me well here, though magical plants prove more temperamental than mundane ones! I am compiling illustrations of our specimens, detailing their unique properties and uses.

But the subject I most anticipate is Mystical Histories. Professor Linden brings the faded texts alive with his dramatic orations, transporting us to ages past. While many students' attention wanders, mine holds rapt.

The clashing forces and arcane secrets revealed in his lessons intrigue me deeply. I am particularly drawn to the rare texts that whisper of schisms long ago between wild magic practitioners and formally trained mages. Details are scarce, obscured by the passing of centuries, but these fragments hint at deep divisions and bitter strife. I hope in time to reconstruct this fascinating yet troubling history.

Linden often reminds me fondly of my father, a bard whose epic tales could entrance crowds for hours. While Linden lectures, my mind does sometimes drift to memories of home and questions of the wider realm I have yet to discover. What news have the latest bards brought to our village, I wonder? What adventures have my friends found in my absence?

But the allure of magical history and its shadowed mysteries ever tugs me back. I know perceiving the mistakes and warnings of the past is key to protecting the future. And so I diligently transcribe each lesson, certain these obscured truths will illuminate my purpose in time. For now, I eagerly await what forgotten knowledge the next lecture shall unveil.

My visions come sporadically still, brief glimpses into the ether. Some seem significant, warning of calamities or revealing truths. Others are more abstract puzzles I cannot decipher. Headmistress Laurel tells me to treat them all as lessons, honing my Sight through practice. That I should record each one here in hope of discerning their purpose with time. Patience has never been my virtue...

But I must remind myself how much has changed in just these short weeks. I have seen magic flow from my own fingertips to light candles, brew healing draughts, and charm objects. There is still so much to learn about my gifts. For now, I will take each day as it comes.

The future remains unclear, but I walk willingly into its veiled mysteries. Willow has already become a second home. Here I have found kindred spirits who share my passions, understand my talents, nurture my potential. Together we shall discover the fullness of our power, the depth of this intricate world.

9th day of Freyna in the year of King Brailin

The moon gleams outside my window as I open my journal to record the day’s events. My candle barely provides enough light to see the page, but I must write while the details are fresh.

Something has changed in the last few nights. My visions, which once came only in brief glimpses, have grown startlingly vivid. I am granted entire sweeping sequences that play out before my mind’s eye as I slumber.

Upon waking, I recall every moment in perfect detail, engrossing stories enriching my understanding of people, places, events near and far. I told Headmistress Laurel of these developments at once, and she nodded knowingly, saying I have crossed into a new realm of Sight. She herself experienced similar sharpening of her gifts after some training.

My first extended vision came five nights ago. As I drifted to sleep, I found myself suddenly transported to a bustling seaside village I had never seen before. I walked unseen among the inhabitants, observing their lives and hearing their thoughts as plainly as words spoken aloud.

I witnessed a young boy on the docks as he spotted a magnificent sea creature breaching the waters a ways offshore - its flowing tendrils and bioluminescent skin marked it unmistakably as a Moon Jelly, a rare magical species long thought extinct. The boy ran to fetch the village elders, but his claims were dismissed as fanciful tales. 

The vision ended there, and I awoke intrigued by its inexplicable specificity. I recounted every detail to Headmistress Laurel the next day. She shared my account with a visiting scholar from the eastern islands who confirmed that the village I described does exist - and their legends told of ancient Moon Jelly migrations past their shores. Though none had been seen for centuries, my vision revealed that the creatures yet endured, still swimming far beneath the moonlit tides.

This experience showed me the potential power of my expanded visions - to unearth hidden truths, reveal forgotten histories, connect distant realms through the eye of my mind. I yearn to cultivate this gift further.

The next night I was shown a possible future - one where Willow School had grown into a revered academy attracting students from all corners of the realm to study together in harmony. I glimpsed wondrous new buildings of white stone housing more specialized classes and expanded magical creatures grounds. This vision filled me with hope, showing our community’s continued prosperity.

But last night brought a more solemn sight - a warning to a remote mountain village of a coming onslaught of avalanches triggered by unseasonal storms. Their protective rituals would fail against nature’s overwhelming fury. I told Headmistress Laurel immediately and she has sent several of the older students to assist. I’m hoping that the warning arrives to the area in time. 

The candle burns low as I scratch out every detail granted to me in sleep’s strange realm. I welcome this deepening Sight, though it often leaves me unsettled come the dawn. But perhaps that is the plight of anySeeing - to never know for certain which visions will illuminate or deceive. Either way, I know my path leads firmly forward...into night’s waiting arms.

The Goddess of Second Chances

by Jamie Dalton

Another late night recording the day's events by candlelight. The hour grows late, but I must write while the details remain fresh. So much has happened since my last entry.

I miss my parents sometimes with an ache that strikes unexpectedly. Sights and sounds trigger memories of my little alcove where I'd read tales of mythic adventures. I hope to visit home again soon and share how I've grown. For now, I am content learning my craft within Willow's sheltering arms.

The Dark Forest hums around the school with ancient magic and secrets waiting to be discovered. I almost feel as if it’s amplifying my own magic.

Speaking of which - an update on the vision I had about the mountain village. 

Headmistress Laurel dispatched a team of students to travel there and reinforce their barriers with new wards. A bird arrived yesterday confirming our teams made it safely to the village and have successfully strengthened defenses. The avalanche hit but the village was safe. While it’s painful sometimes to see the worst happening, I’m grateful that I can use it to help save lives.

Last night's vision brought less clarity. I witnessed scenes of a young witch named Elowen trapped in a horrific curse forcing her to die repeatedly at the hands of the God of Death, Morvan. Her anguish felt so visceral it lingers still. I could feel the imbalance in the natural order of things attracting darker forces.

I do not know how her tale connects to my path, but the vision's intensity leaves me unsettled. Headmistress Laurel says I have been granted it for a purpose yet veiled. I must record it exactly, awaiting the day its meaning coalesces.

So I will transcribe the scenes here, though they are hard to relive. Perhaps in time their significance will reveal itself, as Laurel says patience and faith often unlock understanding. For now, obscure though it remains, I shall chronicle the vision exactly as it manifested.

The candles gutter low, my eyes grow weary. But now is not the time for further scribbling. I go to seek solace in sleep's embrace, hoping brighter dreams await. The night often brings counsel, if we have ears to listen.

Goddess of Second Chances- Jamie Dalton

Elowen gasped awake, the chill of the crypt seeping into her bones. How many times must she endure death before finally grasping the power to defy it?

When young witch Elowen's experiment to cheat death backfires, she finds herself cursed by the God of Death, Morvan. Forced to endure repeated deaths and trips to Morvan's underworldly realm, Elowen hatches a daring plan - to earn godhood herself. With the help of her best friend Lys, Elowen sets out to become the Goddess of Second Chances, using her newfound immortality to right wrongs and give people the second chances they deserve. But earning divine power won't be easy, and Morvan has no intention of relinquishing control over Elowen's fate.

Tropes: Immortality, curse, magic, defying fate

Triggers: Death

Spice Level: 0/5

Chapter 1

The crisp autumn air nips at my cheeks as I arrange jars of glowing herbs on my rickety wooden stall. Willowbend Hollow's annual Harvest Festival is in full swing, the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke mingling with excited chatter. I breathe deeply, savoring the moment before chaos inevitably descends.

You're not actually going through with this, are you? Lys appears at my elbow, his green eyes wide with concern.

I roll my eyes, continuing to sort my magical ingredients. Good morning to you too, sunshine. Your faith in me is truly heartwarming.

He sighs, running a hand through his perpetually messy sandy hair. Ellie, you know I support you. But reviving the dead? That's not just pushing boundaries, it's obliterating them.

It's not about bringing back zombies, I growl, slamming down a jar with more force than necessary. It's about healing. Giving nature a fighting chance against decay. Don't you see how beautiful that could be?

Lys's expression softens. Of course I do. But the coven elders—

Can kiss my enchanted ass, I mutter, earning a snort from my best friend. This spell could change everything, Lys. No more watching loved ones wither away. No more forests dying from blight. I have to try.

A crowd begins to gather, drawn by the shimmer of magic radiating from my booth. I straighten up, plastering on my best mysterious-witch smile. Show time.

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! I call out, my voice carrying on the wind. Witness a miracle of nature, a defiance of death itself!

The festival-goers press closer, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear. Good. A little healthy terror never hurt anyone.

Ellie Blackthorn, a smooth voice cuts through the murmurs. Still determined to play god, I see.

I turn to find Briar Holloway leaning against a nearby tree, his lips curved in a sardonic smile. My heart does a traitorous little flip, which I quickly squash.

Briar, I purr, matching his tone. Come to criticize, or do you actually have something useful to contribute?

He pushes off the tree, sauntering closer. His dark curls catch the golden sunlight, and I have to remind myself that he's an insufferable prick, no matter how unfairly attractive he might be.

Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering, Briar says, stopping inches from me. I'm simply here to watch the inevitable disaster unfold. Although... He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. If you need someone to pick up the pieces afterward, I'd be more than happy to oblige.

I shove him away, ignoring the flush creeping up my neck. Save your 'comfort,' Holloway. You'll be eating your words when this spell works.

Briar's eyes darken, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through his cocky facade. Be careful, Ellie, he murmurs. Some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

Before I can retort, a hush falls over the crowd. Cassandra Thorne, resplendent in robes of deep crimson and gold, approaches my booth. The coven leader's silver hair shimmers in the autumn light, and her piercing gaze pins me in place.

Elowen, she says, her voice rich and measured. Are you certain you wish to proceed with this demonstration?

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet her eyes. I am, Elder Thorne. My research is sound, and the potential benefits—

Cassandra holds up a hand, silencing me. The consequences of failure could be dire. Not just for you, but for our entire community.

I understand the risks, I insist, my palms growing sweaty. But progress requires boldness. If we never push beyond what's comfortable, how can we grow?

A ghost of a smile flits across Cassandra's face. Your passion does you credit, child. Very well. You may proceed but know that the responsibility for whatever transpires rests solely on your shoulders.

As she melts back into the crowd, I release a shaky breath. Lys squeezes my arm in silent support.

Last chance to back out, he whispers.

I shake my head, determination flooding through me. Not a chance in hell.

With trembling fingers, I begin arranging my components. Dried leaves form an intricate pattern on the ground, while candles flicker to life at strategic points. The crowd presses closer, their anticipation a palpable force.

As I raise my hands to begin the incantation, a chill runs down my spine. For a heartbeat, I could swear I see a pair of smoldering amber eyes watching me from the shadows. But when I blink, there's nothing there but swaying branches and dappled sunlight.

Shaking off the unsettling feeling, I focus on the task at hand. Power builds within me, crackling along my skin like static electricity. The words of the spell flow from my lips, ancient and potent.

This is it. The moment that could change everything.

Gods help me if I've miscalculated.

Chapter 2

Mortals. So predictable in their unpredictability. I watch from the shadows as they bustle about their quaint little festival, oblivious to the true power that walks among them. The scent of decay mingles with pumpkin spice and woodsmoke – an oddly fitting perfume for this dance of life and death.

My gaze is drawn inexorably to her. Elowen Blackthorn. The witch who dares to challenge the very fabric of existence. I should be furious, should smite her where she stands for her audacity. And yet...

There's something intoxicating about her fierce determination. The way her stormy eyes flash as she argues with that simpering herbalist. The curve of her lips as she trades barbs with the arrogant pretty boy. She burns so bright, this one. It almost pains me to know I must extinguish that flame.

I adjust my mortal guise, a cloak of shadows that renders me unremarkable to their limited senses. As I weave through the crowd, snippets of conversation assault my ears.

Did you hear? The Blackthorn girl's going to raise the dead!

Nonsense. It's just a party trick.

I don't know... remember what happened last time she tried something this big?

Ah yes, her last spectacular failure. I allow myself a small smirk at the memory. The chaos, the fear, the delicious despair that radiated from her in waves. It was almost enough to make me reconsider my stance on interfering with mortal affairs.

Almost.

I pause near her booth, close enough to feel the crackle of magic in the air. She's more powerful than she realizes, this little witch. In another life, under different circumstances...

No. I shake off the foolish notion. I am Morvan, God of Death and Fates. I do not entertain 'what-ifs' or 'might-have-beens.' My purpose is clear, my resolve unshakeable.

And yet, as I watch her prepare for her grand spectacle, I feel an unfamiliar twinge in my chest. Regret? Impossible. More likely indigestion from that atrocious pumpkin spice concoction I sampled earlier.

The coven leader approaches, all swishing robes and false gravitas. I listen to their exchange with growing amusement. These mortals and their petty hierarchies, their desperate clinging to the illusion of control. If only they knew how insignificant their squabbles truly are in the grand tapestry of existence.

As Elowen begins her spell, I feel the shift in the air. The veil between worlds grows thin, reality itself trembling at her audacity. For a moment, just a heartbeat, I consider letting her succeed. What would happen if death's dominion was truly challenged? The chaos would be... exquisite.

But no. The balance must be maintained. With a flick of my wrist, I send a tendril of my true power snaking towards her circle. It's subtle, a whisper of discord in her carefully woven spell. Just enough to—

Her eyes lock with mine, and for an instant, I know she sees me. Not this mortal shell, but the ancient, terrible truth of what I am. Fear and defiance war in her gaze, and something else... a flicker of recognition? Impossible. And yet...

I force myself to look away, to focus on the task at hand. The spell unravels, magic dissipating in a shower of sparks. The crowd gasps, some in disappointment, others in relief. Elowen stands there, shock evident on her face as she realizes the magnitude of her failure.

Now comes the hard part. The punishment. I steel myself, pushing down the unwelcome flicker of... what? Compassion? Ridiculous. I am beyond such mortal weakness.

As I step forward to deliver my judgment, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby mirror. For a moment, my carefully constructed disguise slips, revealing blazing amber eyes and hair that shifts like twilight shadows.

Elowen sees it too. Her eyes widen in understanding and fury.

You, she hisses, magic crackling around her clenched fists. What have you done?

I smile, allowing a hint of my true nature to bleed through. Only what was necessary, little witch. Did you truly think you could defy death without consequences?

The fury in Elowen's eyes is a living thing, beautiful and terrible. For a moment, I allow myself to bask in it, savoring the raw emotion radiating from her like waves of heat.

You had no right, she snarls, taking a step towards me. The crowd around us shifts uneasily, sensing the building tension. This spell could have helped so many people, saved so many lives!

I chuckle, the sound low and dangerous. Oh, little witch. You speak of rights? What right do you have to meddle with the natural order? To disrupt the delicate balance between life and death?

She falters for a moment, doubt flickering across her face. But then that stubborn chin lifts, and I'm caught off guard by a surge of... admiration? How peculiar.

And who are you to decide what's natural? Elowen challenges, her voice carrying across the now-silent festival grounds. Magic itself defies nature. We push boundaries, we evolve. That's how progress happens!

I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear. Be careful what you wish for, Elowen Blackthorn. You might just get it.

She shivers, whether from fear or something else, I can't quite tell. The air around us grows heavy, charged with potential. I become acutely aware of her quickened breathing, the flush creeping up her neck.

Who are you? she whispers, her earlier bravado giving way to wary curiosity.

I pull back, allowing my glamour to slip just a fraction more. I think you already know the answer to that, clever girl.

Recognition dawns in her eyes, followed swiftly by a mix of awe and defiance that I find utterly intoxicating. You're... you can't be...

Morvan, I confirm, bowing with a flourish. God of Death and Fates, at your service.

The crowd gasps, some falling to their knees in supplication, others backing away in terror. But not Elowen. No, she stands her ground, chin raised in stubborn defiance.

If you're really who you say you are, she says, her voice steadier than I expected, then you know my spell could have worked. It wasn't about defying you; it was about giving people a chance!

I circle her slowly, drinking in every detail. The way her hair catches the fading sunlight, the stubborn set of her jaw, the barely contained power thrumming beneath her skin.

Oh, I have no doubt it would have worked, I concede, surprising myself with my honesty. That's precisely why I had to stop it.

Confusion furrows her brow. I don't understand.

No, you wouldn't, I sigh, a touch of melancholy coloring my words. You see only the immediate, the individual lives you might save. But I see the tapestry of fate, the intricate web of consequences that spiral out from every action.

I gesture to the crowd around us. What happens when people no longer fear death, Elowen? When the natural cycle of life and rebirth is disrupted? Chaos. Overpopulation. Stagnation.

She opens her mouth to argue, but I press a finger to her lips, silencing her. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I see the same shock mirrored in her eyes.

Your intentions were noble, I continue, my voice softer now. But the road to oblivion is paved with good intentions.

For a long moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. I find myself wondering what it would be like to taste those defiant lips, to feel that fierce spirit yield to me...

I shake off the dangerous thought, reminding myself of my purpose. With a wave of my hand, I conjure a shimmering thread of fate, letting it dance between my fingers.

Your actions cannot go unpunished, I declare, my voice ringing with divine authority. "But neither can I