The healing magic of a trainee witch

Please work, prayed the girl, her dark dress clinging to her sweating skin, tight muscles bunching in strain as magic seeped from her hands. It had taken days of convincing before the village head had allowed her to help, now, she just had to prove she could. Magic was a fickle thing you see, no matter how powerful you were, it could deny you it’s use for any number of reasons. So, she had worn her best gown, tied her hair up neatly, then, steamed her hat to get the point to perfection. She was, if she did say so herself, the image of a model witch. The groan of the injured pulled her back from her daydream, hand gently placed against his bleeding wound, she prayed. Moments passed and not trickle, fear tickled her skin as her beating heart raced in panic. But, as if answering her, power poured from her fingers, he was healed.



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