While her standard expression was that of vapid femininity, in here, it was with almost a hungry look that Tatiana ignored the directions being issued, taking the opportunity instead to survey (judge) her competition. None, the witch noted smugly, seemed particularly adept, and so this should be an easy enough competition to sweep.

When indicated, the witch set about concocting her antidote to uncommon poisons, a brew she knew well—no child raised by Mariana Macnair was likely to last long otherwise, Tatiana thought fondly.

She worked diligently and finished swiftly, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she realized she was first done.