She had severed all ties with the trash known as Witch Weekly after the debacle with her father. The Prophet, with its actual facts, had been bad enough; Hannah had not wanted to subject herself to the baseless accusations the ladies’ magazine held about her family—and she herself. After losing her child, however, and the subsequent seclusion that came with it, the would-have-been socialite had quietly subscribed once more, a tenuous connection to society at large, but a connection nonetheless.

It should not have come as a surprise to see her name on the front cover, but it had. While Hannah knew better than to take the content of the magazine’s pages to heart—she had long since hardened herself there—the spirit of the article stuck with her, driving her now to a place she had not visited in months.

Hannah sat alone at a small table, sipping her tea as she read a less salacious publication, though the offending Witch Weekly article lay on the table face-up, a silent protest. Her presence at the club once more was a form of stubbornness more than anything, proving to the magazine, society, and even her husband that she could be out in the world, but simply chose not to. Perhaps, in a way, she was also testing the waters—proving that same fact to herself—but that was a detail to be considered retrospectively.

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