The flutter of violet butterflies surround you with the sound of a small ring of a bell—though, about to be sacrificed from the assumption of the village, being ‘cursed’ or ‘bad luck.’ the flicker of a miracle came your way, even for you.

The full, blue moon glees with a hint of sorrow, the purple eyes of the witch, with its own look of pity.

A large, poky hat that shadows over her face.

“I see you’re in a bit of a pickle.”