I woke to another knocking on the door. I jumped out of bed and down the stairs again, still sneaking to look through the window to see who it was. There was an old woman standing there with a carpet bag, her skin and hair white, her eyes violet. I threw open the door and we stared at each other until my father came down the stairs and moved me away from the doorway. They spoke in very quiet tones, and then the woman came inside of our house.
She set her bag on the table and began taking things out, vials, crystals, metals, plants, burners and cups. I watched her, confused at how this woman was not hunted as heavily like us. She looks up suddenly and sternly, making me look away. She gives off a hoarse laugh and then coughs, evidence of her age. She continues to pull out her objects, str
