Every once in a while, there was a witch in the woods. Her mad cackling echoed through the dark forest and her magenta hair was like a flower in bloom. The ebony dress she wore was often caught on branches, covered with faint amounts of dirt. When she was around, curious village girls would visit her for help with their ills. Her shack was surrounded by an overgrown garden, just as she liked it.

"Come here, dearest one," she called out to an inky black raven, whose beady crimson eyes seemed to know forbidden things. Although the woods were still, the raven and the woman snapped their heads at an unknown presence. It could be anyone - a guard, a village girl, a man of the cloth, perhaps a group of bandits.

"Come out, wherever you are," Araminta Corr called, her voice silky as her raven's feathers. She rubbed some herbs into her wrists, embracing the fresh scents of her medicinal plants. The sight of the witch at night was unearthly, but her painted smile was sincere. "Don't be shy. The ravens are friendly most of the time."