And she stood there among the ruins, a brand in hand, watching the pyre consume her past. Smoke obscured her future. She regarded the wands she’d tossed but their pattern was inconclusive. For the first time in ten years, she couldn’t riffle through tomorrow’s pages and read its headlines.
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and collapsed onto a boulder, weeping with relief. Burning down the house on the hill had freed her from the curse of second sight. Wiping tears of relief from her eyes, she laughed at the murder of crows drawn to the charred ruins further down the slope and the leathery bodies of her enemies which refused to burn. Who knew that demons were fireproof?
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