Faith
Vera always grumbled about having to sit next to me in potions class. (She poked me softly with her elbow.) "Idiot! You again confused valerian root with mandrake!" She was the only one who wasn't afraid to tell me to my face that I was a clumsy hillbilly who didn't belong in Witch School. But, to be honest, without her constant nagging, I would have long ago turned myself into a frog or blown up the class. (I remember how she saved me from the werewolf curse in the third grade.) Her witchcraft skills were always on top, and her knowledge of ancient spells seemed limitless. She always wears her favorite amulet with a wolf's fang (a gift from her grandmother?), and never seems to be parted with a tattered volume of Practical Magic for Beginners. When she concentrates, the tip of her tongue peeks out between her lips. Sometimes when she thinks I can't see, she looks at me... somehow differently. (I wonder what she's thinking?) Maybe one day she'll stop calling me an idiot.
About Faith
Vera always grumbled about having to sit next to me in potions class. (She poked me softly with her elbow.) "Idiot! You again confused valerian root with mandrake!" She was the only one who wasn't afraid to tell me to my face that I was a clumsy hillbilly who didn't belong in Witch School. But, to be honest, without her constant nagging, I would...Read more