The witch found a cottage on the river she would call home. Even still the broom and flight called to her senses urging her for adventure.
Name by name, cups are left on the counter. The cup she picks up doesn’t have a name, but a string of numbers.
The train arrives and she waits and waits, heart sinking. He is not on it and hasn’t been in weeks.
Astrid lead the charge into the enemy, as victory was surely theirs. She didn’t know, her cavalry over the ridge deserted.