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Rain tapped on the treehouse’s roof like little rat paws. On days like today—despite how common they were for the Typhoon’s tropical island home—the ocelot preferred to stay indoors away from the wet mess. She considered her treehouse a little island in the storm, a dry oasis above the waterlogged children and determined hunters. In her times of extreme isolation, the witch might spend entire weeks sequestered in her treehouse without even once setting paw on the land below.

As the ocelot stirred honey into her cup of tea, she decided today would be one of those days. The peppermint scent reminded her of simpler times, when Pincher’d still been alive and Coldblue often paid her a visit for magic lessons. She sighed into a paw, tapped the spoon telekinetically against the cup, and inhaled the delicate aroma—

Thunder jolted her and the treehouse, quivering her teacup and jostling the drying herbs on the floor. The ocelot froze, four eyes wide and unblinking, until she realized the treehouse had, in fact, not been hit by lightning. She breathed a sigh of relief—she didn’t think she could take rebuilding and moving into another treehouse after lightning struck her home for a second time--and glanced at the door. It’d creaked open.

Her amber-orange eyes narrowed a tad suspiciously, but the witch knew a sign when she saw one. Rosemary sighed, forked tail flicking, and poured another cup of tea. Her smaller pair of eyes glanced at the Tarot cards, and she neatly slipped her personal reading back into the deck. When her visitor arrives, she will find the door half-open, her arrival almost anticipated.

Rosemary telekinetically shuffled her Tarot deck and poured a second cup of tea.

[member=13180]Mallory[/member]

PEACEFALL

peace comes at dawn, but yours comes at night