Luna sat back against the uncomfortable wooden chair, ignoring the rusted nail that was threatening to pierce through the silk of her borrowed clothing against her side rib. She let the woman stare at her, all the while her eyes glazing over the witch's features.
Though faint, the memories of the Chosen One were flooding into her unstable mind, worsening her headache. Tabatha, as the witch had mistaken her to have been was already long dead. The pieces fit quite neatly into the puzzle that had formed in her mind listening to Caliban's conversation with Celeste earlier in the garden.
But what did not fit was Caliban's involvement in all of this. And the woman Celeste complained about- if all of them had mistaken her for this girl named Tabatha, and The Lord had given his heart to her, then why was he with those who had her killed? She wondered.
"I'm sorry I mistook you for my friend." The witch said, interrupting her train of thought.
