chapter 2 of part 3

It was not a magic door. Just flimsy wood and rusty hinges nailed to the wall of a dusty old cabin. A wrecking-ball of Sarah's immense bulk was not something it was ever meant to restrain. The wood flexed a little as she leaned into it and likely would have splintered if the hinges hadn't pulled free from the wall first. The door fell forward like a domino as Sarah struggled to hold her balance, dropping painfully to one knee and almost pulling the handrail from the wall.

The witch, who had been glaring across the room at the twins and about to say something concerning their unusual outburst, turned to stare bug eyed in shock at Sarah and this latest interruption.

“WHAT!?” spat the witch. For a moment no one moved.

Gritting her teeth, Sarah forced herself to her feet and climbed the last step, pulling on the walls of the stairwell so hard she heard them crack. She looked over at the twins. They were huddled in the far corner shivering in fright. Asherah's head was buried in her sister's chest. Ashtart's pale and terror stricken face was locked in the witch's direction, unable to look away.

Sarah wondered as she sucked wind. She didn't get it. She was missing something apparently, and returned her gaze to the witch. Something was wrong with this picture. It shouldn't matter, she should be bolting for the door – as much as someone her size could bolt anyway. But something nagged at her. Something WAS wrong. Very wrong. So wrong her mind didn't want to acknowledge the reality before her, instead superimposing her expectations of reality and eclipsing the objective facts her eyes had been seeing all along.

The witch saw Sarah turn pale and stagger backward almost tripping, pressing her back against the wall to remain upright, her eyes slowly widening in growing alarm. It hadn't been clear with the twins as they were all the way across the room and more or less directly in front of the witch, but Sarah was much closer and to her side, making it clear. It was not her they were looking at, the witch realized.

The witch noticed then that her massage had stopped, though firm pressure on her shoulders told her that two very large hands were still there. She raised her right hand to touch the fingers of the hand on her opposite shoulder. They were long and hairy. Too long really, but she ignored it.

“It seems our pig has escaped her pen a little early,” muttered the witch. “Grab her! Do not let her escape!” They were commands, backed with powerful magical compulsion. Even Sarah could feel it – the air in the tiny cabin crackled.

But nothing moved. Now it was the witch's turn to blanch and wear a look of surprise and confusion.

“Slave!? Do as I command!” Sarah felt the witch's words shake the cabin like a thunderclap. But to no avail. Why wasn't it working? The witch turned a fearful eye toward the impossibly large and clearly inhuman hand on her shoulder. She craned her neck to follow the hand up a furry arm to find a shoulder at about the same height as the rafters, before continuing on almost up to the ceiling.

Ah. That explained it. She thought as fear gave way to resignation. So powerful a curse would not be overridden by her feeble attempts. There was nothing she could do. Checkmate. Well play...

Sarah and Ashtart both turned away then, as a gaping maw filled with fangs the size of large daggers descended from the rafters. With a sickening crunch, the witch was no more.