Olivia
I felt my stomach twist around itself. Or rather, I felt something twist around my stomach, writhing its way up around my heart.
The serpent. Dread. A bad omen.
“How… How did you know?” I asked.
The witch chuckled, a sound like metal being raked over hot coals. Suddenly, the damp tea leaves stuck to the bottom of my cup were far too pungent, nauseating. I set the cup down with a clatter.
“I knew all along,” she said, swirling her own unfinished tea in her cup. “When you came here to restore your friend’s hand, I knew. And I could sense it tonight; you’ve been waiting to ask. You’ve been… nervous.”
She was right. Entirely right.
The air was thick and cloying inside the witch’s hut, heavy with the scent of burning herbs and aged wood. Each shift in our seat
