The scents grew stronger, swirling around her like a benevolent tornado. Augusta shut her eyes to sing. To pray. To plead. To beg of the moonlight. But when she opened her eyes, the scents fell flat, the candles sputtered, and the room turned cold. She emptied the contents of the mortar onto a square of Esther’s muslin. The powder was wholly unremarkable, but she saved it anyway.
