A Witch Alone

The kitchen was littered with the remains of breakfast. Plates and bowls were discarded on the table, eggshells sat cracked and empty in their cups, crusts of toast lay abandoned on plates.
The tablecloth was sprinkled with crumbs and smeared here and there with rich orange marmalade, butter or bright raspberry jam. The radio burbled in the background.
Arianwyn took a sip from her cup of tea, looking up from the charm recipe she had been working on to gaze out through the window across the rooftops of Kingsport. Ribbons of smoke snaked high into the bright cool sky. The leaves of a nearby tree were beginning to fade dusty and pale, and the air through the open window had the crisp cool feeling of autumn.