stood in a wild forest, a stirring of leaves drawing my gaze to the old oak tree next to me where thick green vines snaked up and around the trunk, seeming to strangle it. I stepped toward a glow of flickering light. In a clearing, there was a cauldron hanging over a blazing fire. No one was around, but it was obviously set there by someone. Then the voice called to me. I walked to the fire and peered into the cauldron, the brew inside swirling with a menacing hiss. Then I heard the voice again. It was Violet. “Stones are old, stones are cold, but blood is colder.”
