Standing on the edge of the cliff that her cottage sat upon, Touko Fukawa squinted down at the flecks of brown strewn over the beach. Last night’s storm washed up an abundance of driftwood.
There would be more than enough to replenish her stock,
recently depleted from botched summoning spells that she only realised she had been casting incorrectly after nearly all of her driftwood had been used up.
The page of ingredients that she referred to for the spell bore many smudges from the previous owner of the leather bound book and trial and error on the blurred text turned out for the worse.
During the few years so far that Touko lived in the cottage,
she had only managed to obtain a single book specifically tailored to witches such as herself and that was only because an actual witch wrote the book and passed it onto Touko before
her untimely death.
Touko lived a life of seclusion, away from the town somewhere behind her that she could only view from her cottage through polished lenses or at the onset of night when windows and lamps glowed,
transient, snuffed out hours later when regular people were inclined to fall asleep.
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