Inside the cozy, leafy sanctuary of the witches' cottage, the team lounges like happy puddles after a feast. They're sprawled across mossy couches, curled on flower-shaped beanbags, and melting into soft, vine-woven cushions.
Everyone looks full. Full of food, full of tea... and full of secondhand post-coital radiation.
The eldest witch slinks into the room, graceful despite the exhaustion that trails behind her like faint fog. She carries a tray of fragrant herbal tea and hands out steaming cups with a knowing smile. Her middle sister is still snoring on a couch, mouth open, leaking drool, one leg twitching occasionally like a happily dreaming dog.
Penelo yawns mid-sip. "So… should we go check on Pip and the youngest witch, yet or—?"
Zora stretches, his shirt undone, wine-stained, and dramatically draped over the arm of a lounge chair. "Oh, I'll volunteer. Purely out of an abundance of caution, of course."
