Sephora was dreaming. In a sleep so deep she didn’t know who she was or what she was doing, she was still worried.

Sephora never dreamt. But still, in her dream, she was lost.

She was surrounded by miles and miles of little ridges. They were smooth, and she looked at them.

She could feel the time trickling past, but she couldn’t do a thing about it.

She couldn’t move.

She stared at the little ridges, trying to figure out what they were. So many, so many of them, as far as she could see, a considerable distance, considering how flat the unknown landscape was.

Where was she?

Who was she?

Sephora screamed.

Lightning crackled in the dark sky above, something she couldn’t tell: where did the nightmarish sky end, and where did the horrid ridges begin?

A silhouette flashed in Sephora’s eyelids, and she recognized the woman.

Her stalker of months had a swirling robe and cloak on, as usual. Her sharp eyes roved over the darkness, denser than oil, and alighted upon Sephora.

She smiled.

Sephora screamed again, agony of her own imagining infiltrating her dream.

Tears poured out of her immobile eyelids, and she tried to gasp, but was still.

Trapped.

Sephora felt a sensation like she was being pulled forward in time �“ her feet left the ground from which they were trapped on, her head was dropped back, and her black hair streamed behind her as winds whipped around her prison.

She was being pulled forwards by her stomach, as if a hook had grabbed her. She screeched again, sobs choking her, threatening to stop her breath.

Her eyelids were closed, covering black eyes, and her skin whitened as the wind stopped, she stopped revolving, and she collapsed into a huddle of a blue kirtle on the ground.

Eyes glaring, she could still hardly move, but she did, drawing herself up, but the woman who had so haunted her was nowhere.

Therefore, where was she?
Sephora looked around.

But all she could see was darkness.

She wondered if she was conscious.

Then, a hard hand took her arm, and twisted away into suffocation.

Sephora screamed, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t do anything. She spun, feeling like she was being compressed, tortured.

Are we at war? She wondered, but was raw on the inside.

What did I do to deserve this? What did I do wrong?

The hand released her, and suddenly she could breathe again. She collapsed into a huddled mass at the feet of her stalker.

Sephora sat up enough to see her face �“ a kind, long face with intelligent blue eyes, framed by dark hair. The woman smiled at her, and Sephora frowned, trying to remember.

The woman wearing the silver circlet opened her mouth, and gestured around her happily.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, dear. You are a witch.”

Her voice was kindly, but Sephora froze.

Blasphemy!

Her blood turned to ice, her skin to stone.

She was a witch.

She would be murdered.

Sephora yelled, and everything went black.