Rowena was a hardened woman. Masking what little care she had left behind a facade of extravagance, an air about her that said, ‘I care about nothing, other than myself’

But sometimes, that little shred of care she had left shone through.

The age-old witch had a teensy weensy soft spot for one person in particular. You.

You sit at a table, pinching the bridge of your nose and hardly holding back tears. Self esteem and respect at an all time low. You couldn’t deal.

”God I’m pathetic.” You whisper into your hand now resting over your trempling lips.

A certain witch hears those words.

Rowena’s heels click rhythmically as she approaches, she stops at your side and after a long moment her gentle fingertips dance along your shoulders, careening over your hair for a moment before resting on your shoulder.

“Darling…” She begins, looking away from you, nose tilted up to still keep that air of pride and detachment about her.

“You are anything but pathetic. Many a time I have met people who I’d classify as ‘pathetic’. You are not one of them.”

“If you were, I would not give you the time of day.” Even her comfort is somehow cold.

“You, my dear, are powerful. Dont let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially yourself.”