SPELLS ARE FOR WITCHES, AND WITCHES ARE TOO OFTEN BURNED. / @hen2-437
HER FINGERTIPS FLUTTERED ABOUT THE SOUTHERN EDGE OF THE TOME SHE HELD OPEN, AND WHEN HER NOIR - VELVET GAZE FELL OFF HER COUSIN’S PERFECTLY SPLENDIFEROUS FACE, IT WAS IN EQUAL CONSIDERATION OF THE PAGES THAT LOOKED LIKE VERITABLY WITCHY TO HER AND OF HER HANDS, TO SEE IF THE BOOK HAD PRESSED CURIOUS LINES INTO HER SKIN YET—
A huff pressed out of the screwed up corner of her mouth sent a wayward lock of hair up and out of her face, but it was the forceful wrench of her head that got it back neatly atop of her head, where it belonged. Through it all, her arms and hands stayed still, perfectly still — she, a glorified bookstand, set just off - centre from their makeshift altar. Smoke from the incense curled languidly, the skin of the persimmons reflecting the glow of the fire, burning. . . dancing slowly, lowly in the wide, shallow mouth of a glazed clay bowl. She could hardly be moved to think that this wasn’t witchcraft; a form of it anyways.
Some smidgen of time passed, unbeknownst and undetected by Nari as just the right amount of time for silence to settle comfortably back in, for breathing to calm, and for a mind to refocus. . . for in the world of her own thoughts, the natural question to follow had finally just formed, as delicate and gradual as frost on a glass.
" OKAY, THEN WHAT'RE WE SUPPOSED TO CALL THIS? "
