witchofthechalk: (Flying with Feegles)
[Tiffany is tired. No, worse. She's not tired, at least not properly tired. Properly tired was spending two days on your feet without sleep. It was helping a new mother give birth to twins. It was when you spent your time on something that made the sheer exhaustion feel like an accomplishment rather then a weakness. No she wasn't tired. Not really.

But she was worried. And she dreams of eyeless things, angry music and gingerbread houses in the woods. And she decides since she's a witch she's going to have to do something about all this. Or a few things.

A. Housemates: Tiffany is sitting on the living room floor while she goes through the small wooden box of her small things from home.

B. Tiffany is walking down the street with a broomstick floating in the air behind her. She's holding onto it by a string as she walks along.

C. Susan, people at Susan's house. There is a witch knocking on the door.

D. There is a girl and a broom on a hill. While that might be a little odd, the strange thing is that she's flying. Rather low to the ground but still flying. It helps her think.


ooc: Tiffany is now able to hear spill words.]