VI: December on that Rooftop

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VI: December On That Rooftop

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VI: December On That Rooftop

VI: December On That Rooftop

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December 13 / 1999


They met in the dead of night.

She had her elbows resting on the railing. Smoke curled upwards, courtesy of the blunt stuck between her fingers. She was watching passers-by bustle about the cobble-stoned alleyways, shoes clacking, lit up by the streetlights. After all the turmoil of the day, she could only think of what a fascinating view the mortal world proved to be.

These people, blissful in their ignorance, driven by their dreams. Here to roam the roads of Florence, gaze at the paintings hung up in the Uffizi Gallery and such, click their pictures, and then go back home. Oftentimes it felt like although she could say she'd been to every beautiful place in Europe, she couldn't claim that she'd actually seen it.

Raven business always got in the way.

And from today, it was bound to get worse.

This evening, in the throes of another lush champagne party, Diane Crowley had announced to every sect of their coven the news that Reese Yung and Azalea Crowley were to forge their sacred link with each other. How it would strengthen them. How it would renew their power. How fortunate they were that fate had granted them this opportunity.

For the coven, it was the promise of empowerment.

For Reese and Azzie, it was akin to a death sentence.

It had been a long time coming, anyway, so here Reese was, escaping the celebrations and contemplating life.

How very.

The white evening gown she'd worn — a strapless silk piece — didn't stop the cold, so she'd ruined that perfect aristocratic image with her old purple leather blazer. The material was wearing off on the shoulders, and it practically swallowed her frame, but it was dad's, and she was pretending everything she did, she owed to him.

I bear it so they don't have to, like he used to say.

And here was a man, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, dressed in a simple henley and jeans, who'd joined her a few minutes ago. She'd peered at him and then returned to her silent thinking, occasionally taking drags from her blunt. He was a stranger, probably mortal, and she was a witch.

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