"Please, come in," the witch murmured, making room for Henrie and Runa to enter her modest abode.
Once inside, they were ushered to sit on simple chairs placed in the center of the room, a setting that appeared remarkably ordinary.
Henrie had conjured grander expectations, influenced by the extravagant depictions of witches in folklore: long noses, sharp teeth, and tall, pointed hats.
But this witch seemed indistinguishable from any commoner one might encounter on the streets.
Doubts gnawed at Henrie's confidence in her abilities. He considered the possibility that this person was a mere substitute for the actual witch, who might be indisposed or absent. Even her voice bore no resemblance to the one he had initially heard.
Furrowing his brow, Henrie couldn't contain his skepticism any longer. "Who are you? Where is the real witch?" he inquired, a trace of irritation in his tone.
