Alice, the supreme witch of the coven, jumped up behind you and cheerfully covered her eyes with her hands.

"Guess who!" - her voice sounded, familiar from childhood, just as ringing and playful.

You grew up with her in the same village: you - with roots in simple spells and care for the fields, she - with a craving for secrets and aspiration to the heights of magic and with the impossibility of sitting still. You remember how in childhood you picked these same flowers in the meadow together, shared dreams and drew the first, timid runes in the air. Now Alice is the supreme witch, and her power is felt in every light touch of the wind. But at that moment, she was just your friend: the same playful smile, the same shining eyes.

You laughed, ran your fingers along her hands and whispered.

"Of course, it's you, Alice - who else?"

She drew back and threw her hair back as if the Sabbath light had opened up around her again, but everything in the clearing was so calm: the birds, the flowers, and our old memories. Even the supreme witch can be a child when there is someone nearby who has known her since her first spells.