He was always telling her to mind her ways, to watch out and make sure she didn't let anyone in on her secret. She would huff and pout and snarl at him, but she knew that he was right. After all, there were precious few who would tolerate a Witch- especially one so dedicated to the cold and the dark. There were times she would look to the moon and pray- for snow, for ice, for anything that would remind her of why she left, of why she was so willing to leave everything behind in the tiny little hamlet they all used to call home. And every time, he would be there with cups of tea and one of those half-smiles he always wore. And every time, she would take her tea with a murmured thanks and smile into her cup, because she would remember.
This is a decaf tea | Steep at 212° for 5 minutes.