My attempt to calm Miss Winters by taking her into my influence failed once more, however her mind seems clouded enough that, for now, my priorities may go elsewhere:


I never knew I’d see her again.

No sooner did Miss Winters return than she brought home a portrait of the cursed wretch.  How?  Why?  I later went to witness it in private, and as I gazed into that unforgettable and most distracting set of eyes and lips, I knew that I would have no clarity of mind nor heart until it were gone.  Slashing it wildly, I burned it, as is the fate of all witches.  And, like all true witches, she returned to her frame to look upon me once more.

I defy her to reveal herself to me so that I may confront her for all that she is.


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