The witch began the summoning. She swung her ritual stone, with its glimmering silver chain, in all directions. The room filled with miasmic haze.
Her grandmother said all a real witch needed was two sticks and a bad attitude. But she wasn’t just a witch. She was a performer.
Three figures emerged, lanky and wolf-like with skulls for faces. They bowed to her and went to their instruments.
“Let’s all try and stay on key today,” she said as she picked up her guitar.
They weren’t the best musicians in Faerie, but they made one hell of an album cover.

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