Rosaria Deja vu. That’s what it felt like. The eerie feeling that I felt when I saw the witchy symbols on the ground sent shivers down my spine, raising goosebumps. Having to experience another ritual in my present life didn’t sit well with me. Witches were not to be trusted. They say once beaten, twice shy, but here I was, putting my trust in someone who might turn their back on me and play tricks again. Some hours earlier, I had narrated to Alexander the memory of the ritual I went through as Gwendolyn. He seemed upset as he clenched his jaw, blaming himself all over again. “How did Elisa come in the picture?” He asked suddenly curious about what happened centuries ago. “Damien brought her to me when you were in a coma, they had already discussed the problem and the possible action to take,” I said, recalling the memory that was now vivid and part of me. Come to think of it, I had always been suspicious of Damien, if not for the fact
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