The witches laughed as they stepped out of the shadows the cottage cast upon the clearing. The sight of their hooked noses and bright eyes would haunt the moon for a very long time, provided she survived whatever witchery they had planned.
“Silly child,” the first chided. “Silly, silly child.”
“It wouldn’t have been a very effective spell if you’d heard it,” the second said.
The third said nothing. She just gave the moon a sweet look that hid sharp things like teeth and claws and rusted knives, and somehow that look said everything.
“You cannot kill me,” the moon said with more surety than she felt in that moment. “I have no blood to bind my death.” Never before had she appreciated being immortal.