Amara, the High Priestess, had been in deep meditation before walking into the room. When she entered, her eyes were wide with shock as Eliza’s story unfolded. She dropped her teacup, the delicate porcelain shattering on the floor, as her mind raced with thoughts of the lost hybrid.
“Is this the lost hybrid?” she whispered, her voice filled with awe and curiosity. A sense of urgency and intrigue replaced her usually composed demeanour. Her piercing green eyes now reflected a glimmer of anxiety.
Amara was a beautiful and powerful witch. Many revered and feared her abilities. Her long black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk, and her regal presence commanded respect from all who stood in her presence. The story puzzled Amara; her mind was racing with possibilities and unc
