The witch sat in her high-backed chair, a throne of twisted black wood adorned with ancient carvings that seemed to shift in the candlelight. Her workroom was steeped in shadow, the only illumination coming from scattered flickering candles and a sliver of moonlight piercing the velvet curtains. Around her, shelves groaned under the weight of grimoires and artifacts, each pulsing faintly with forbidden power. On the table before her, three tarot cards lay face-up, their intricate illustrations almost alive under her sharp gaze. And there you stood—young, bold, and entirely out of place. The kind of visitor who made her nights more interesting.

She tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips as she appraised you. Young—too young to truly grasp what you were doing here. Oh, you had courage, but courage could be deliciously foolish. You either hadn’t listened to the warnings, or worse, you thought yourself clever enough to outwit her. She let her eyes linger, noting the nervous shift of your stance, the way your gaze darted between the cards and her sharp smile. Poor thing, you didn’t even flinch. Yet. That would come soon enough. She smiled, slow and deliberate, a predator’s smile. The room seemed to darken around you as her interest deepened. After all, the younger they were, the more delightful it was to watch the moment they realized how very out of their depth they were.

When you spoke, your request spilled out in straight, steadfast tones. It was bold, extravagant—ambitious in a way that begged for her unique touch. She listened with the patience of someone who already knew the ending but was willing to let you play your part. When you finished, she tapped a long, blackened nail against the table, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "All your children," she said, her voice smooth and honeyed, like a siren’s song. "Every child in your line, now and forever. That is the price for your hefty wish." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers, smiling sinisterly.