In the heart of the blighted wood, the white tiger witch circled her cauldron, claws dripping with green fire. The bound rabbit-girl thrashed against the ancient oak, soft ears pinned flat, eyes wide with terror.
“Please,” she whispered.
The witch only smiled, red eyes gleaming. With a flick of her wrist the tentacles rose—thick, glistening, alive—and coiled toward the helpless prey. The cauldron hissed, hungry for the sacrifice that would complete the spell.
“Fear makes the magic sweeter,” the witch purred, and the forest held its breath.