JAKE
I stood near the large wooden table, watching as Rosita and Sonia worked with intense focus. They hovered over a bowl filled with herbs, grinding them with careful movements. Their hands moved swiftly, the room filled with the soft sound of leaves being crushed and mixed together. My mind raced, hoping that whatever they were doing would give us answers—something, anything—to explain my father’s drastic change.
Rosita, with her weathered, wrinkled hands, began to recite an incantation. Her voice was strong, ancient, filled with power that sent a chill through the air. Sonia followed suit, her younger voice blending with Rosita’s, and the two witches began speaking words I couldn’t understand.
The room grew colder as the incantation continued. A strange, heavy feeling settled ove
