by Karen Bayly
The great witch, Ophesia, sat leaning against an ancient oak. Even though her heart was drumming its final beats, she sensed his approach.
“Come to mock my last minutes, Tarlin? I have no magic left.”
The ageing wizard eased down beside her. “Even I would not hurt a dying enemy.”
“Yet here you are. Why?”
“I will miss you.”
Ophesia cackled heartily, then noting Tarlin’s serious expression asked, “Your point being?”
“I still have magic.”
Taking her hands, he drew her to her feet.
“Let’s traverse the unknown together.”
She smiled as he uttered his spell.
Into darkness, they flew.