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XI: From A Dream (When You Came Back To Me)
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March 15 / 1997
The air was thick with smoke and shadows. The cloying scent of oudh invaded Reese's nostrils. Witches milled about the arena, carrying ritual objects of varying degrees of importance to the center, where Diane Crowley stood, directing orders. The day was on the periphery of plunging into night; the crowd was restless.
For the first time, Reese shared their inhibitions.
The wait was sickening.
With every minute that ticked by, she was tempted to dart out of the stands and into the warmth of her room.
They were expected to play the fascinated spectators for some mundane Raven festival that celebrated the coming of spring and paid gratitude to the tidings of winter. At least in textbook language. In reality, they had been sitting there for the past two hours. And possibly expected to continue sitting there for god knew how much longer.
"Remind me why we're here again?" Reese muttered.
Azzie smirked at her. "Cultural experience, Reese. You need to appreciate the rich tapestry of Raven traditions."
"Considering our penchant for anything dark and ominous, I'd have thought we'd be beyond," she switched the modulation of her voice to imitate Diane's posh, apathetic one, "embracing the illuminating tidings of Spring like a dog with two tails."
Azzie's eyes narrowed. "That's so far off from what she said."
"Whatever. This is reminding me of one of my high school plays."
"The Witch of Edmonton?"
"The Tempest," Reese replied.
Azzie blinked. "Was it really this bad?"
She was met with a vigorous nod. They stared at each other for a second, unable to help the laughs that came out in snorts.
"Hey, shut up," someone hissed in their general direction.
