PLAGUE OF WITCHCRAFT

r, theirleaves rustling in a language only they could understand. The ancient oak stood at the center of the clearing, its gnarled branches tw

runes, and a silver dagger that gleamed in the moonlight. The air was thick with anticipation, and the group exchanged nervous glances. They k

, memorizing the incantations and rituals that might give them a chance againstthe witch. But even now, doubt gnawed at her.

others joined in, their voices blending with the whispers of the forest. The wordswere ancient, their meaning lost to time, but

dles and plunging them into darkness. The ground trembled, and the ancient oak groaned as if in pain. Fro

choing through the trees like the sound of breaking

suffocating weight that pressed down on them. But Brook stood her ground, clutching the grimoir

red, though her voice trembled. "We w

ines. "Foolish child. You have no idea the power you wi

antation, one she had memorized from its pages. The air around her cr

e was not so easily defeated. With a wave of her hand, she summoned a swar