The two women entered the warmth of the castle and Constance quickly removed the cloak from around them. Running her hands through her damp hair Imogen let out a sigh as she watched the older woman stride towards the cloak hooks. She could sense that the witch was troubled; she wanted to run over, to hold her, to feel the softness of that porcelain skin.
Hesitantly she stepped towards the older woman, then paused. Was it wrong to use Constance's vulnerability to her own advantage, to make a move on her? She couldn't stoop that low, no matter how much she wanted it.
Constance turned to face the younger woman, aware of their closer proximity, and Imogen's hesitation. The non-witches feelings were written all over her face, a trait she almost envied. Pursing her lips, she maintained full eye contact, revelling in the warm curiosity of Imogen's stare. "Can I help you Miss Drill?" her voice remained composed, only hoping her eyes would do the same.
Caught off guard Imogen began to stammer "I…I…well…no. No, you cannot." Her eyes saddened, sending a wave of distress through Constance. Had she upset Imogen? Why did she care so much? And why was she desperate to set it to rights? The younger eyes were scanning her face, searching for any indicator as to what the witch was thinking.
But that was just the problem, Constance was no longer thinking. Stepping forward and meeting Imogen in one long stride she grabbed the younger woman by the shoulders. Swiftly she lowered her head and brought her face towards Imogen's until she met the warmth of her breath. Before she could close the gap the non-witch had caught her lips with her own and was running her hand through Constance's hair.
Imogen couldn't believe what was happening. All of the feelings she'd had towards Constance, could they be reciprocated? As soon as she'd considered the question the witch pulled away leaving Imogen looking up to the older woman's eyes, searching. The dark brown eyes before her held nothing but fear, blinking only once before disappearing into thin air. Looking down at her shoes, the magical taste of Constance Hardbroom still on her lips Imogen was left alone in the dark hallway of Cackles Academy.