The eerie wail of trees falling to the ground disrupts the quiet of the swamp. The witch watches them crash into the mud, her black lips pinched into a frown. She doesn’t relish the destruction of her bog, but she knows that it is necessary; her experiments require a great deal of materials and, more importantly, the hag needs a place to store them. She isn’t quite ready to offer her wares to the public, and despite her caution (for she has taken great measures to hide her prey, even going so far as to hide the graves with foliage) Yana is paranoid.
One can never be too careful, and the little witch will be much more comfortable having the towering black obelisk standing guard. She pauses her work, casting her gaze across the bubbling green pond and resting it upon the stone. It sits in the exact center of the water, leaning at a slight angle and glistening in the few rays of sun that have managed to creep through the canopy. The runes that are carved into it are not visible from this distance but the witch knows they are there, taunting her like a candy held just out of reach. Though they are newly connected Yana still feels as if she knows nothing about the artifact. It is an eerie feeling, to be bound to something you know nothing about. Someday I shall know your secrets. However, today is not meant for deciphering runes carved into ancient obsidian, and there is much work to be done.
The pounding of her crude tools into the wood matches the pounding of her head as the witch works, falling tree after tree and rolling them into a neat pile. She peels back their flesh to reveal the white bones beneath, paring each skinny body until-
No, she thinks, That was yesterday, before the party.
It seems that her thirst had gotten the best of her the night before, when she was dancing with Corrdelia and learning of her fellow witch's cabin. It is not a mistake she hopes to make again.
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