The maniacal laughter haunted her at every turn, the fallen twigs snapping beneath her panicked feet sharp against her haggard breaths in the deep never ending forest as she stumbled through the thickening fog and descending darkness. Her trembling fingers arched with tendrils of magic as it ran in her veins like heat but it was useless to her at the moment. Centuries of a life nestled in the laws of nature fell to dust under the hot pursuit of the thing that seemed to be everywhere and yet nowhere at once. Neither staff nor broom, neither pointed hat or swirling wand could ever capture the truth of her existence, the presence that true power posses. They were trinkets of a child's imagination, nothing more, but oh how she wished she had something more powerful than herself to fall upon. Old men with straggled beards and hags with warts that blinked with all seeing eyes never whisper the realities of being a Witch in a world that evolves with le...