Z: part of story Enchanted

The Crow.
The crow watched inquisitively from the skeletal branch. Peering with
its yellow beady eyes through the rain slicked windowpane.
They were at it again. The chants were lifted and carried away by the
howling winds that whipped and screeched round the ornate
mansion.
The fog was tinted green with the smog that plumed from the chimney.
The gargoyles fixed expressions stared blankly into the Enchanted
Forest a little way below the house.
The bedraggled crow hopped sideways along the slippery branch. It let
out a resounding "caw", ruffled it's huge black wings and swooped first
down from the branch then rose and flew over the house.
Flashes of greens, reds and yellows outlined the branch where the crow
had been perched so pensively moments before. Outlined in the window
were three figures. Dancing. The changing flashes of the spectrum were
to blinding to determine the sex of the figures or their actions.
Another "caw" from the crow echoed from the hollow slates on the
mansion roof, the crow circled and then dived down the chimney's flute
and entered the room contained the three figures.

The crow jerked as it stood in the fireplace. The mind of its
passenger, the borrowing White Witch, left the mind of the crow and
returned undetected to its body in the Enchanted Forest.
The black cat that lay by the sacrificial alter spotted the panicked
bird out of the corner of its half opened yellow eye. It stretched and
arched its jet-black body, baring its razor edged fangs in a hungry
yawn and extended and flexed its sharpened claws. Its eyes flashed
red.
The crow flapped and cawed hopping in a frantic circle of confusion
and loneliness as the chants, explosions and screeches rattled its tiny
brain.
The chants rose and silenced out the final scream of the crow as the
cat pounced and pierced the crow's breast with its talon like claws and
crushed its skull in its death filled mouth.
The cat elegantly padded across the blood marked carpet carrying the
limp, matted body of the crow by the throat as it would carry a kitten
by the scruff of the neck. It leapt with ease onto the Alter and sat at
attention between the skull and other such satanic adornments.

The Art Of Borrowing
The White Witches eyes fluttered as her mind returned. The rain
pattered on the roof of the small, wooden meditation hut. She was lucky
to have noticed the cat. If the crow had been killed with her mind
still present she would have died too. The art of borrowing was a
complex one to master but fairly simple in its explanation. Borrowing
was the ability to put ones mind into the mind of another creature. You
were then a passenger in the back of its mind, seeing through its eyes.
If you were capably clever, you could control the beast and cause it no
harm.
She had missed her chance to see the Black Witches performing their
ritual this time but after so many years of trying, she wasn't about to
relent.
Since the beginning of both magical practices, Black Magic and White
Magic, it had been a rivalry of good verses evil. In two weeks time, it
was the Coyote Moon. As rare an occurrence as it was but, this
particular time of the world's existence was crucial to the existence
of all witches. It was written in the Scriptures of the Sorcerers that
on the night of the thirteenth Coyote Moon a magical battle between
them would end the rivalry and give everlasting light and power to the
greater witchcraft.
This was the thirteenth Coyote Moon.

The Preparation.
"Esmarelda! Look. That cat of yours has ruined my carpet again!"
"My cat? It belongs to the craft and you bloody know it." Growled the
figure called Esmarelda.
"Bloody isn't half of the mess on my carpet!"
"Silence! Both of you. Did either of you idiots happen to note what it
is that the cat has brought?" A strong voice. Most probably the head
witch of this coven.
"No Lady Gwendolyn" The voice of Esmarelda.
"A cleaning bill?"
"Shhh with your comments Marianna! The cat has brought a crow. A crow
that has been used in the art of borrowing. And why is this good do you
think?" The supposed leader, Gwendolyn.
"The White Witch didn't return to her body in time?" Esmarelda
"We can only hope." The voice known as Marianna.
"Marianna! What have I told you? The fool did return to her worthless
body but she left her presence. This will help us prepare for the
battle. Gut the body and throw the entrails into the cauldron."

The White Witch made the mouse close its eyes. But now she knew their
preparation tactics and now she knew to be careful not to leave so
hurriedly and leave a trace of presence. She had hoped to see more than
their shoes, ankles and shins but the mouse was the safest option and
small enough to hide in the old cracks the mansion had developed
through many years of dedication to witchcraft. And now she knew their
names. Esmarelda. Marianna. Gwendolyn.
Marianna sounded the youngest of these three evil witches. Gwendolyn
was the most strong, determined, intelligent voice of the three.
Esmerelda she didn't know what conclusions to draw. She needed more
time. But, she was tired and she couldn't risk having another creature
killed by that cruel beast they called a 'Cat'. She left.
Her mind was of no mass as she flew through the sky as essence.
Treetops rushed past her as she returned to the meditation hut where
her body rested. The storm was calming. Only the steady rain beat the
ground as it poured from grey and black clouds.
Her body's eyes shot open. She had to prepare. Slowly, as her mind
regained control she reached out for her Book Of Shadows, a diary of
all her personal notes, diagrams and spells. This book had been with
her almost 6 years now. It was a treasured, essential possession to all
White Witches. She began to study her notes on Coyote Moon and the
Scriptures of the Sorcerers. Most of all, she studied the preparation
used by the Black Witches. If you can't beat them, join them or play
them at the own game at least.

Smoke and Mirrors.
The tears had soaked the front of her black velvet dress. Her throat
burned hoarse from screaming and sobbing. Now she merely wept in the
corner of her room, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.
Her mirror lay in shards on the floor. She could still hear her mother
and father bawling at each other. She felt helpless. She needed a way
out.
She began to pack clothes, food, money and CDs into her bags and
ignored the callings of her parents. Pandora this! Pandora that!
Pandora slipped on her long black leather jacket and hoisted the bags
over her shoulder. On the way out her coat caught a shard of the mirror
she had smashed in her rage only half an hour before. As she bent to
un-snag herself she saw the books. Three in all. Three books she had
never seen before. One was bound in blue velvet and had written on its
cover in gold foil, 'Oracle'. The second was bound in red velvet and
written similarly in gold foil on the cover was, 'Spells'. The third
and final book was bound in black silk. Written on the cover of this
book in black velvet outlined in red silk were the words 'Black' and
'Magic'. She was intrigued.
She clutched the books into her chest with both arms as if carrying a
valuable and fragile object.
Her parent's rants were too loud for anyone to have heard the lock on
the door turn and the door slam behind their 16-year-old
daughter.

The forest dripped. Tree branches hung low with the weight of rain
droplets. Pandora's boots treaded softly on the damp leaves. Her
shoulder length black hair began to curl as the dew seeped through to
her skin. She still carried the books close to her, held tightly in
both arms, wrapped in her coat. Her parents hadn't followed. She
doubted if they had noticed she was gone. Why break the habit of a
lifetime? The stinging tears began to well in her eyes and softly roll
down her pale cheeks. They tasted bitter on her chapped, lipstick
streaked mouth. She would have hastily wiped them away with the heel of
her bracelet-adorned hand but she couldn't bring herself to let go of
the books. Not even for a second. Even she knew this was childish but
she just couldn't bring herself to let go.
She glanced around the openings of the Enchanted forest. The rain made
the trees look as though they were coated in silver. A branch she had
not noticed brushed the side of her slender body and startled her. She
jumped and tripped over herself. She spilled on to the muddy, rain
sodden forest floor. The books flew from her clutch. That's when she
realized the books where not normal books. The book bound in black silk
titled 'Black Magic' began to smoke as it lay at the foot of a hazel
wood tree. Curls of purple smoke floated up from between those pages.
And although there was no breeze, they swirled and drifted away from
the trees and floor, hanging suspended in limbo between all objects as
if paper on string. Pandora's mouth hung simarly suspended, as her gaze
would not waver from the book and its smoking pages.

Enchanted.
Black Magic was forbidden in the Enchanted Forest. White Magic coursed
through the earth and creatures in the forest grounds. This explained
why the book of Black Magic was burning and the smoke lingered in still
air un-touched by White Magic's gentle arms. It was a similar
phenomenon to the myth that Witches melted when sprinkled with Holy
water, only the aforementioned phenomenon actually happened.
Pandora, a person detached and un-involved in world of Witchcraft, did
not know of the power encircled in the forest. To her, it was a place
to hide. Full of trees, mud, rain droplets and shelter. Now she was
afraid.

Book of Shadows.
The two other books, 'Oracle' and 'Spells', ceased to burn. They lay
closed side by side at her left. Although her encounter made her weary
of touching the books again, she felt compelled to read them.
'Oracle' had a wheel inside the cover. Each segment-thirteen in all,
twelve outer and one center circle, contained a picture. The next
double page had one hundred questions printed on its paper, numbered.
Each page after that was numbered and contained the structure of the
wheel except with writing instead of pictures. On the back double page
was a chart. The pictures from the first wheel read down the left, then
the page numbers of the other wheels in the next columns. Along the top
were the numbers of the one hundred questions. It was used to predict
the future.
'Spells' was self-explanatory. It contained spells. She used the
'self-healing' spell to heal the scars on her wrists and adapted the
'Forget Me Not' spell to erase her painful past. Now she was considered
Enchanted.

Salvage.
Pandora lay shivering on the Enchanted forest floor, content with
herself and at peace. Then she began to dream.
She dreamt of her parents and her life at home. She remembered in her
dreams the heartache she had felt day after day, year after year, how
her parents had never talked to her, but at her or through her. She
dreamt of the alternate life that was never available to her at home. A
life of happiness, smiles and laughter. A world where she did not cry
herself to sleep at night. A life without her bloodshed and tears. A
world that had not discarded her.
Her sleep became restless as her mind scraped through her memories
that were soon to fade.
She woke to the sight of spectrums within her own pitiful tears. It
was still dark. The full moon cast a blue shadow over Pandora's shaking
form. She felt more alone than ever before. Now she truly had no one.
She hated the world and felt she could bare its burden no longer.
One of her bags she had rescued from the wreck that was her home
contained things she had always felt she needed. Now she was prepared
to use them for their intended purpose. In the front pocket of her
black shoulder bag was a pair of scissors, a razor blade, a shard of
glass and a knife. The sleeves of her dress were loose which made it
easier for her to roll them to above her elbows. She removed her
bracelets and neatly put them in place of the objects she had just
removed.
First she scratched and hacked all her forearms in all directions with
the scissor blades. Then she cut quickly horizontally on the tops of
her forearms using the razor blade. She used the knife to drag and slit
horizontally on the underside of her forearms across her veins. Her
arms were covered with blood and searing burning pain was so intense
she could no longer feel her arms from the elbow down. As she reached
for the final object to slice open her veins vertically and end her
miserable life, she saw something reflected in the shard of
glass.
Reflection.
She saw a palid face spattered with blood gazing at her with dead
eyes. No caring in those eyes, just a dull curiosity. Tears rolled down
the face of the girl in the mirror. Pandora could feel warm tears
falling on her cheeks too. The face in the mirror grinned slyly.
Pandora's mouth did not even twitch. Her eyes stared in disbelief at
her premonition.
Mirror girl backed away slightly. She was identical to Pandora in all
but her actions. She bared her arms in front of her, showing seeping
scars and bleeding wounds. Then she took Pandora's final step and
opened her veins from the bend of the elbow to the heel of her hand.
Black blood spilled and gushed from the horrible affliction and still
the girl grinned.
Pandora screamed and saw red and white dots blurring her vision. The
world began to spin as she fainted into the flowerbed she sat on.

Draven.
White roses were stained with blood. The grass indented where the
girl's body had lay. Violent implements were scattered across the
ground close to where the girl had slept, also covered in blood. All
except the shard of glass. It had three points and a curved jagged
edge. It had small, bloody fingerprints on its shiny, rain dotted
surface.
The girl now slept in the Meditation Hut in bandages with a cold cloth
on her perspiring forehead. Draven returned these objects to the hut
and put them into one of her bags. He found no identity cards on her
being on in her bags. He assumed her to be a Witch as he had discovered
the 'Oracle' and 'Spells' books by a pile of purple ashes at the base
of a Hazel tree.
He tenderly mopped her brow with the warming cloth. He took it to the
sink and rinsed it with fresh, cool water then proceeded to gently dab
her face, neck and collarbone. She stirred but did not wake. Draven
admired her beauty and mourned her pains.
Draven had been like her once. Alone. Then the forest had accepted
him. He had been a Wiccan for almost eight years now. He was a young
nineteen years of age, with short raven black hair and a spiked fringe.
Built well, tall and handsome. His skin was pale and had what could be
described as a milky sheen. He had bright, shocking blue eyes that
could break ice when he flashed his cold stare.
The Coven did not know Draven had brought the girl to this secret
place. In normal circumstances he would have erased her memory of the
forest and returned her home, but she had needed medical attention and
he had no idea where she had come from. Draven felt for her. Anyone who
had the will to cut their wrists and arms to ribbons must be living in
a personal hell. He wanted to help her.

Reality.
Pandora woke to see a wooden shelter above her. She could feel the
tight band-aids holding her wounds closed. Her arms itched and her head
ached. She panicked as she desperately tried to remember what had
happened to her and where she was, but no memories came.
She sharply sat upright and the cloth fell into her lap. Her chest
hitched as she held back her tears. Pandora looked at her arms and saw
blood staining the thick bandages. She clawed at them, wanting to rip
them off and bleed onto the uncaring world.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Spoke a deep, gentle voice from
behind her. It was the voice of a male.
Startled, she let out a small cry. The voice spoke again and she heard
footsteps walking to her bedside.
"I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Draven. I found you bleeding in a
flowerbed near the entrance of the forest. Who are you?"
"Who am I? Good question." Pandora whispered. Draven still heard
her.
"You mean to say you don't know who you are?" The voice quizzed.
" Why won't you let me see you? Who are you?"
Draven stood in front of her. She gazed at him as her towered over
her.
"I already told you, I'm Draven. I'm a Wiccan and this is the
Enchanted Forest, home to a Coven of White Witches. I presume you are a
practicing White Witch?"
What is he talking about? Thought Pandora. Witches? I thought they
were only fairy tales.
The glassy look in Pandora's eyes told Draven she did not
understand.
He explained.
"Your spell books? And the shard of glass? Signs of a Witch. Are
you?"
"Spell books? They aren't mine. I found them at my, well, what was my
home. And what's so important about a shard of glass from my mirror?"
Memory's swamped Pandora. She had broken the power of the 'Forget Me
Not' Spell. Static filled her head and she groaned and clutched her
head in her hands. Draven recognized the effects.
"Ah. You used the 'Forget Me Not' spell. That explains it. So, now do
you remember your name?"
"Yes, Pandora. Pandora Davis. Ouch! My head!"
"Do not strain. Lie down. I'll find something to help you."
Pandora fell back onto the mattress in the middle of the floor.
Writhing and holding her head, her life flashed before her eyes. Her
childhood, her adolescence, the death of her pet dog Cobain, all her
birthdays, her Christmas's, her parents. She sunk varnish chipped nails
into her eyelids as she saw all her mistakes, as she watched how she
was responsible for destroying herself. She re-lived the loss of her
innocence in seconds. She felt the pain of mutilation magnified many
times. She heard the voices of her parents echoing through her skull.
She experienced all the highs and low of her drug takings. The pressure
she forced into her eyes-forcing them close, forcing them to
blur-caused her pain but she could no longer feel it as the power of
memories coursed through her and shook her body into a fit. Her body
stretched and stiffened, her back arched upwards and she screamed from
the bottom of her soul. Her mouth twisted in agonized terror, her eyes
tightly shut. Her screams were ear piercing and long. It was the sound
of her soul breaking.
Draven returned to find Pandora unconscious and quaking, curled up in
a ball on the mattress. He had her agonized screams deep in the forest
and had known the reason for them. In his hands were clumps of witch
hazel, lavender, geraniums and rosemary. He ground them individually.
Scents swirled around the hut. He put each ground plant into its own
jar and sealed them. He knelt by Pandora and pressed the back of his
cool, scented hand against her skin. Her temperature was sky high. He
stayed knelt beside her, waiting for her to wake so her could put the
plants to his intended use-to heal Pandora.

Witch Doctor.
Draven waited for three tedious hours and Pandora showed no
improvement. He had wafted each jar of ground types of flowers under
her nose and she made no recognition of him. He had no choice now but
to finally tell someone she was here. Draven was doubtful of leaving
her as she was, a crying quivering ball, but if she had not made the
effort to move in three hours he suspected another five minutes or so
would not bring change either. He left the hut, wrapping his loose
t-shirt over his exposed forearms and fought against the blowing wind
towards the Witch Doctors residence.
"Doctor? Doctor Shamaya?" Draven called through the half opened door.
No answer came from within. He knocked firmly on the wood paneled door
and called again, this time his voice was shaking.
"Doctor! Doctor Shamaya! Are you there? Please answer me!" He
pleaded.
"Yes? Yes, I am here." Called a voice from within. Footsteps padded
quickly to the door and Doctor Shamaya stood dressed in a flowing white
dress in front of Draven.
"Ah. Hello Draven. What brings you out at this time? Are you
hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. It's someone else who needs you." Draven told her about
Pandora, how he had found her, hidden her and how her condition was at
present. Doctor Shamaya looked worried.
"I think it best we go to her immediately." Shamaya grabbed a bag
beside the door and stepped into the wind. Her blonde hair and dress
whipped around her frail figure. She marched off ahead of Draven at a
speed that Draven had to run to keep up with.

Vortex.
Above the scurrying figures of Draven and Shamaya, above the
whimpering body of Pandora and above the Enchanted Forest itself, the
Black Witches continued their preparation and still danced in their
ritualistic manner. The mansion stood firm through the explosions of
magic inside its ancient walls, and the Gargoyles stare never moved
from their gaze into the Forest.
Gwendolyn read from the Satanic Bible, chants, spells and rituals.
Marianna and Esmerelda simply obeyed. The beast had been
un-ceremoniously removed from its perch at the Alter and now scowled
from across the room. It would have left if the door were not bolted
shut.
Gwendolyn abruptly stopped her readings. A sly grin flashed over her
crimson painted mouth and her black eyes shone. Marianna and Esmerelda
stared and feared the evil plotting going on behind those cold eyes and
black heart. Gwendolyn read aloud what her eyes had danced over on the
next page.
"And our Lord, Satan, shall help those in return for their
commitment."
She chuckled and read it again. And again. The point she was making
remained a mystery to Marianna and Esmerelda. Gwendolyn carefully
explained in a simple dialect as if speaking to retarded
children.
"We are committed to our practice. We follow our Bible and do as the
Dark One has asked. We need to win the battle of Coyote Moon. If we
receive the power our Lord will rule. This means our Lord will help us
if we summon him and offer him the world. Understand?"
The plan darkened in the minds of Marianna and Gwendolyn. Summon Satan
to help them to win the battle. Then Black Magic will rule.
Gwendolyn stood by the stacked bookshelf that covered one wall of the
room. Her talon nails traced the spines of the books. If the books
could, they would have allowed their spine to crawl and shrink away
from the touch. Her cold, pale hand hovered over the thick spine of
book titled "Summoning", she removed it from the shelf and blew the
coloured, magical residue from its cover. "How to summon over 200
different demons and ghouls in three easy steps" the cover read. Stupid
modern selling language, thought Gwendolyn. Everything was too easy
these days. Where was the challenge? The edge? The fun?
She decided to use a Vortex spell and open a portal to an available
demon that would assist in the communicating to Satan. Demons where
difficult but she had experience. She warned Esmerelda and Marianna
especially, not to speak to the demon and allow her to talk to
it.
Gwendolyn placed a large bowl in the center of the room. She called
Marianna to fetch the dark blue bottle on the shelf. It contained a
thick red liquid, which Gwendolyn poured into the bowl. The blood
created a thin steam from its red form. The blood was fresh and had
maintained its heat. The crow had contained just enough to fill the
bottle and now the sluggish content sat placidly in a bowl on the
carpet. Esmerelda held her tongue. Gwendolyn muttered and waved her
arms over the bowl of blood. Slowly the level of the blood lowered and
left smears of its presence as it slid out of view. The bowl seemed to
move. It pulsed and grew, it changed into a sloping funnel that grew
and developed a green colour.
Gwendolyn stood looking into the portal. A vortex to hell itself. She
cautiously leant over the mouth of the funnel shape and saw a hairy,
salivating face staring back. She grinned. It was indeed a demon.
Marianna and Esmerelda cowered to a far corner of the room and watched
as hoofed hands appeared over the rim and a horned, hair covered,
maniacal demon followed.

Healing.
Shamaya and Draven arrived by Pandora's bedside at about the same time
as the portal opened. Pandora had not moved or stopped her whimpering.
It was a pitiful sight to endure.
Draven stood patiently out of Shamaya's way. He knew how she hated
people hovering over her shoulder, breathing down her neck whilst she
was trying to work. Even worse was when people told her how to do her
job. That really racked her off. And so he stood, fist in mouth,
watching the Witch Doctor work.
No one knew what she used or why she used it. The contents of that
little white bag remained hidden until such an emergency that the bag
was rushed to the side of the patient. The endless supply of bottles,
bandages, potions, herbs and pills always managed to neatly fit back
into the bag and the patient was standing on their feet before the
Doctor. Draven admired her skills and her loving tenderness to all
living things. She had a passion for her work that made her a beautiful
being. Shamaya was a valued human presence in the Coven.
Doctor Shamaya applied lotion after lotion to Pandora's sweat slicked
body. Countless bottles came out of the bag and were poured onto, into
and over Pandora. A headachy scent overpowered the room and a rainbow
mist settled. Shamaya worked faster and faster.
Almost two hours later, Pandora lay naked and unconscious smelling of
flowers and glinting with lotion. Shamaya had hoped it wouldn't come to
this. She clasped her hands around those of Pandora's. She prepared
herself using various breathing exercises and muttered memorized
helping chants. Heaviness fell on the room. With a great surge of
energies, Shamaya sucked all the pains from Pandora into her own body.
Immediately she felt pressure on her soul. It was clear to her the
problem with Pandora. Shamaya destroyed the pains of Pandora inside
herself using magic.
Pandora stirred. Shamaya tightened her grip on Pandora's hands and
smiled sunshine. She covered Pandora in a thin sheet then called for
Draven.
"Draven? Draven! She's awake." Shamaya called into the darkness.
Draven appeared in the doorway. He looked over to the motioning figure
of Pandora and sighed out the bane he had been feeling.
In the hills, a demon cackled.

Destruction.
The demon was small. Its body hunched over and its arms hung by its
sides. A small puddle of its own saliva began to form where it stood.
The saliva was tinted a pale lime green and it steamed with humidity
and stank of decomposing rankness.
"You called?" It rasped in a crackling gruff voice, spraying its
foulness before it.
"Say it don't spray it." Whispered Marianna. She immediately regretted
speaking.
The demon swung its bent form in Marianna and Esmerelda's direction.
It grinned in its maniacal way and vomited onto the carpet a pile of
entrails. It howled with laughter and rolled in its filth. Marianna
clasped her hands over her mouth and retched repeatedly. Esmerelda
clung to a nearby chair as she swooned and greyness quilted her
vision.
Gwendolyn glared at the scenario. Impatience boiled inside of
her.
"Baal! I command you halt and obey me." Gwedolyn bawled at the demon.
Baal stopped and gloomily obeyed his summoned.
"What is your wish?" Asked the demon Baal in his grating voice.
"I need you to deliver a message to our Lord. We require his help in
destroying the practice of White Witches at the Battle of the 13th
Coyote Moon. With his power our practice and He shall rein the world.
Go and tell him this. We are his servants and we take our job with
pride."
Baal grinned in a manner that suggested he knew something they didn't.
He simply nodded his head and lumbered back into the Vortex. The portal
closed as easily as it had opened, gently swirling round, smaller and
smaller until the only signs that it was ever there were the bowl,
puddles of vile drool and the vomited pile of entrails.

Meet the family.
Pandora could hear Draven and the Witch Doctor discussing her through
wooden slats of the hut. All she had come to understand was that she
wasn't supposed to be here. Just as she wasn't welcome at home, she
understood she wasn't to be welcome here. They had nursed her only
because it was urgent and there was nowhere else to have shoved her out
of the way. Or so she was interpreting.
Draven and Shamaya were deciding what to tell the others. They reached
the agreement they needed to know more themselves about the girl. The
blood stained implements and the shard of glass.
The glass was the most intriguing piece. Its shape was so unnatural to
have been merely smashed from a mirror like the girl had said. It had
been designed to be that shape. The shard had three points and one
curved edge. Two points were separated by the curve and the other point
joined the shard to a close. If held with the curve and two points at
the top, it resembled the shape of a cat's head. A familiar sign of a
Witch. This could draw many conclusions. Perhaps it was coincidence
that Pandora had this shard and then stumbled across a couple of spell
books and a coven of Witches. Or maybe she was destined to become a
witch or to have found herself in this predicament. Maybe it was a
talisman of some sort or maybe it was link to all these things and
more. It was impossible to say.
Pandora winced at the memory of her premonition shown in the glazed
surface of the mirror shard. Now that her head was clear to think, it
dawned on her&;#8230;she never picked up any shard of glass from her
room. She remembered snagging the hem of her dress on glass littered on
the floor and discovering the magic books, but she could not recall
physically reaching out and picking up a shard of glass that shape or
any other shape and tucking it away in her satchel, but, if she didn't
put it there then who did?
The door scraped across the pine floor as it was gently pushed open.
Pandora pulled the sheet up to her chin and pretended to be sound
asleep.