"Beatrice!" Adelaide shrieked, though there was only a few feet between them. Her cottage, after all, was small. "Is my tea ready?"
"Almost," the red head replied. She looked back to the kettle on the stove that had yet to boil.
"Well hurry up," the witch replied. "I'm thirsty. After that, sweep the floor."
"Yes, Mistress Adelaide," Beatrice replied. She had to force back a groan; her body still ached from yesterday's work.
Better me than them, Beatrice reminded herself. Wirt and Greg had been the last friends she'd ever had.
The boiling kettle pulled Beatrice away from her thoughts.