Who is he?
Where is this place?
Wasn't I looking for my dad and mom?
The Little Witch clutched the small mirror in her hands, holding it close to her chest, warily eyeing the red-robed figure slumped among the mushroom cluster, her mind blank.
She couldn't recall what she had done yesterday, where she had gone, or even where she had come from or where she was supposed to go. She only remembered her home—a warm, spacious house, surrounded by towering beech trees, with a wide little playground, soft green lawns, golden sunlight, and wizards and witches in long robes—uncle and aunt wizards, brothers and sisters.
She tilted her head upward and took a glance at the sky through the gaps in the oak leaves.
The sunlight here was pale and cold. The sun had only just risen, and there were still a few stars twinkling in the sky. In the brief moment that the Little Witch looked up to study the sky, she witnessed how those stars extinguished one by one, as though blown out by the wind.
