Hannah strode through the mist-covered woods, her lips curling into a smile as she thought about how flawlessly her plan was unfolding. The witches had done their job well, perhaps even better than expected. Kenneth’s death had been the final piece of her puzzle, the weakness she needed to begin her rise. The council had always been an obstacle, but with them bewitched, they were nothing more than puppets.
As she neared the pack house, her fingers tightened around the vial of shimmering potion. The witches had crafted it to perfection, a concoction that would bend perception just enough for her plans. The hallucinations of Kenneth would seem like grief-induced apparitions to anyone who saw them. She would use the potion sparingly, subtly, planting doubts and confusion in the minds of the
