XXXII

Rosalie

The Maleficus Acus was not what I had imagined it to be.

Something with name as prolific as the witch’s needle brought to mind a spikey building reaching for the sky, piercing the clouds with its sharp point. However, here we were, stood in front of a clumpy tower that seemed pointless in its creation and hardly large enough to hold the secrets of covens from across the world since the beginning of time.

Perhaps the winter mist that shrouded the ground and building in its embrace, and the piles of mounded snow took away any sort of majesty from the building.

I turned to Lucille with a questioning look. She seems just as surprised as I was.

“Are you sure we are in the right place?” I ask her. Turning back to the building, attempting to peer through the thick mists to see if there were any other tall hills near by that perhaps housed the place we were looking for.

“I am sure.” Lucille nodded. “This is where the old lady told us to go.” She too peered about, doubting her ow