Agatha sat silently beside the window of her childhood bedroom, staring out at the coven beyond the glass. The afternoon sun cast a pale glow over the coven. Children ran between the houses while their mothers gathered herbs and prepared for the evening meal. Witches moved along the familiar paths carrying baskets, books, and jars filled with potions.
Everything looked exactly as she remembered it. The same trees surrounded the village. The same stone pathways curved between the homes. The same training grounds stood in the distance, where young witches practiced controlling their magic. Nothing had changed. And yet, to Agatha, everything felt different.
This place had once been the only world she knew. It was where she had been born. Where she had learned to walk, speak, and use her mag
