Here rings the next bell and another step forwards towards the great beast. The bells sound, roaring a great destruction. Gothoc spires decay in the moonlight all while the Witch bleeds. Her eyes wide on the beast.
It was time to leave, into a different world. But she knew the huntsman's cabin would remain. She raises her hands, casting a blessing on the surrounding forest. The trees grow tall and green. Bushes glisten with wild berries.
Behind the high countertop, the witch peers over to see if anyone stares back at her. No one. She continues making different potions, all doing the same thing but carrying different flavors. Satisfied, she sells the popular wares and dusts off the particulates sticking to her apron.
The Witch's familiars help in ways unseen by others, providing support, offering helping paws, or just being cuddly. Sometimes they block progress contorting their bodies across the keys hindering the magics inside.