Wanting to be a witch had never before seemed dangerous to Guinevere, but what with recent events, it suddenly seemed very dangerous indeed, a bizarre sort of career that, if magic was REAL and all that jazz, was actually scary. Ever since Aaron, that mysterious father figure in her life, had vanished like snow in spring and left her with the most ditzy, useless redhead on the planet, Guinevere had been desperately trying to be more mystical, more magical, fighting against conforming to Kotatsu's care. She didn't want to be like Kotatsu. She wanted to be like Aaron. But now she was beginning to think there was a reason why Aaron had always seemed so distant and sad, and now she was beginning to think maybe dabbling in the occult was a bit like lighting a match to see waht was hiding in the oil well. So now Guinevere was taking a whole new approach to magic. She couldn't abandon it, she had spent most of her life working at it, and she wasn't going to just give up, but she was going to have to approach it from a different direction. Forget about the black cats and broomsticks and sparkles. Guinevere was going to have to try to be sensible.
She looked longingly at the candleshop's occult section but pulled herself reluctantly away, exiting the store without buying something for the first time ever. She loved candles, but if she was going to start putting safety before style, she was going to have to buy a lamp.
