Grisly depictions of war haunted her eyes even after turning the pages, harder to do with one hand stuck at her throat. Millie hadn't expected Benedict's choice of novels to be such a grim affair, or feel so real. She was only too happy that no one had yet enchanted a manner by which to see these scenes for real. They were only trapped there, on pages to turn quickly past, to live only in the young witch's memory as her eyes sought the better moments the next chapter would bring. Perhaps their next book should return to mysteries instead.
![[Image: uHwnE8q.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/V68t8zfV/uHwnE8q.png)