When the Heretics had finished speaking to her, she bid them good-bye. From that moment on, her strength and vitality had returned quickly. That had been seven weeks ago. She had accomplished much since then.

Reaching her destination, the queen of the Vagaries stopped before a pair of tall twin doors. A wreath of flowering red cat’s paw hung on each one. She pointed an index finger. At her bidding the heavy locks turned over and the doors parted. Serena walked into the room. The doors shut heavily behind her.

She paused for a moment to look around. Everything was just as she had left it. The room was to be perfectly maintained at all times. If she found the slightest thing disturbed, the handmaidens responsible for maintaining this place would die.

The chamber was large and well lit. Sunlight streamed in through numerous skylights; songbirds could be heard warbling in the outer yard. The brick floor was covered with fresh red rose petals. On the dawn of each new day the old petals were removed, then carefully replaced. Their familiar aroma permeated the air. Two specially chosen handmaidens stood in the far corners. As Serena looked at them, they bowed.

Finally satisfied, she again lifted her gown to stride through the lush foliage and toward the center of the room. When she reached the altar she stopped to look down. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

The pink marble altar was just large enough to support a small body. An azure glow surrounded it. Reaching through the aura, the bereaved sorceress stroked her daughter’s cold cheek.

The tiny body was covered by a black silk sheet. More rose petals littered the shroud and surrounding altar top. Small and frail-looking, the dead baby girl lay peacefully atop the stone. The child’s eyes were closed in death. A small wisp of downy brown hair adorned the crown of her head. Had she lived, she would have been named Clarice.