The room was shrouded in tense quietness, broken simply by the delicate popping of the chimney. The Evil presence Ruler, Damien, remained toward one side, his look locked on Isabella, who remained at the opposite end. They were on inverse sides of a great wooden table that bore the heaviness of the Witch's Ruse, a remnant of unbelievable power.
As Isabella set herself up to project the spell, she realize that it was not just her destiny that remained in a critical state. The world wavered near the precarious edge of disorder, for the Ruse could either patch or break the delicate strings of the universe. She lifted her hand, her fingers shaking somewhat as she contacted the Ruse's lavish surface.
The Trick answered her touch, reverberating with a scary energy that sent waves through the room. Shadows moved around them, and the air developed weighty with expectation. Damien's eyes never left Isabella, yet there was a combination of concern and trust in them.
