Chapter 1: Set Up
The year was 1985 and the streets of Salem, Massachusetts buzzed with locals and vacationers crowding boutiques, sampling treats from the bakeries, or touring the historic sites. Amidst it all, an unassuming little shop appeared. A small sign, painted in an elegant script, declared, simply: "Antiquities of Alchemy." Any passerby could be forgiven if they dismissed it and quickly moved on to the next distraction.
The outside resembled the other buildings, but stepping inside unveiled a world unlike any other. The scent of aged wood and musky books engulfed Ivalaine Larkin's senses. The Witch of Salem felt it fitting as she glanced around her enchanting underworld.
Her cat, Mynera, padded beside her as they wandered deeper into the eerie shop. A chill lingered within the air, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, or perhaps it stemmed from the paranormal energies that emanated from Ivalaine's very being.
The room was organized yet crammed, filled with countless odd trinkets and enchanted artifacts. Curiosities collected by Ivalaine over her many lives.
As Ivalaine petted Mynera, she considered her next move. "I fear I've been neglecting my youthful allure," her voice like a sultry song echoing softly. "I can't help but feel these past few decades have dulled my edges."
The cat tilted her head curiously before her bright eyes fixed on a pedestal in the corner: a gilded mirror.
Ivalaine glided over, and peered at her reflection.
Her ageless eyes gazed back, revealing her true age. They were as black as night, with a striking red tint, as if two molten sunsets had become trapped in her slender face. Her silky black hair cascaded down her back, with a streak of silver weaving through, hinting at the passage of time.
Her pale complexion looked almost ethereal in the dim light of the antique shop, but it too betrayed a subtle network of fine lines that had begun to emerge. Ivalaine understood that even she couldn't defy time forever.
"Why didn't you warn me sooner?" She turned to her familar in mild betrayal.
Mynera's frivolous meow expressed no remorse, and Ivalaine took the cat's nonchalance and stubborn independence as an act of rebellion.
"I suppose," Ivalaine sighed, casting a wearily envious glance toward the youthful witch nestled in the dim corner of the shop, carefully perusing spell books written in an ancient tongue. "It's high time we find the proper sacrifice for that particular ceremony."
Ivalaine made a sly smile, softening the gravity of her words.
She had lived countless lives, always evolving in the fickle dance for power and eternal youth. Witches whispered her stories in terrified anticipation. Her legend twisted through generations, as grisly rumors painted a seductive image of a woman who lured men willingly to their own demise for the sake of prolonging her youth.
Born in Salem in 1630, Ivalaine Larkin was an only child to a modest farming family. She developed an early fascination with the earth and its elements, her innate gift for witchcraft blossoming into a formidable force.
During the trials of Salem, she watched her mother burn for a crime she never committed. Grief and despair shook Ivalaine to her core, her soul howling for vengeance.
Emerging from the ashes, she swore never again to be vulnerable to forces that sought to control or judge her. Thus began her pursuit of knowledge and mastery over the arcane arts, extending her life through elixirs, spells, and dark rituals.
Ivalaine moved from place to place, often returning to Salem to revel in its tormented energy.
Her current predicament, though not ideal, could be resolved through her "Rite of Resurgence," an ancient spell demanding a young, virile sacrifice. The greater his innocence, the more potent the enchantment.
Mynera meowed, as if in agreement. Ivalaine was the most powerful witch of her time, and she'd discovered that harvesting the vitality of pure souls amplified her spellwork. It didn't necessarily mean their demise—merely a loss of memory and a fleeting sense of weakness.
After centuries of honing her abilities, Ivalaine learned how to execute this spell undetected, leaving no trace of its intricate energies. With an unblemished record of successes, she'd never once faced opposition or suspicion.
The only real obstacle was alway finding the correct target for the sacrifice. It needed to be a virgin. But not only that, a particularly pure one. Someone
unburdened by the adult world and still naïve to the dark secrets it kept. This innocent would enter her shop of their own free will, their eyes sparkling with curiosity, yet knowing nothing of the seductive, soul-stealing enchantress that awaited them. The sheer magnetism of her ageless allure would ignite an intense desire for connection, and before they knew it, they'd be hopelessly beguiled.
The challenge was that finding the perfect specimen was anything but easy.
Even in a town as quaint as Salem, the ideal target could now be a rare breed. With the advent of global communication and new generations of oversexed teenagers, Ivalaine lamented the slow erosion of purity and innocence, and with them, her powers to entice and enchant.
She had sent Mynera out into the cobblestone streets to search for the proper sacrifice. Her spectral feline eyes missed little as she prowled alleyways and trolled doorsteps in search of just the right prey.
Salem's youth of 1985 proved more experienced than those from yesteryears. Like sharks in the water, they hunted one another, leaving only few who matched Ivalaine's exacting criteria.
Amog these few was Thomas Poppler, who had just recently arrived in Salem.
A curious lad of 18, his sun-kissed hair and clear hazel eyes were magnetic—an irresistible beacon. His aunt Mary had made accommodations to take him in during his parents' mysterious travels, and they went about the quaint town, unaware of the sinister forces lurking amongst them.
Thomas was endearingly naïve about the world at large. Raised in a secluded, rural environment, his wide-eyed eagerness betrayed the perfect blend of innocence and hunger for new experiences. Little did this youth know that he would be the one—the perfect specimen for Ivalaine's Rite of Resurgence.
Thomas Poppler was tall, with an lean build. His hair was the color of a thousand sunsets, with subtle highlights of gold that framed his youthful face and playful hazel eyes. A dusting of freckles lay scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He had a gentle smile, the kind that put anyone at ease.
Despite he outward joviality and attractiveness, Thoms had lead a sheltered existence throughout his youth.
He had long dreamt of exploring the world beyond his hometown but hadn't enjoyed many opportunities to do so up until now.
But Salem was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the town's colonial architecture and rich history stirred something deep within him. Every corner was a potential adventure waiting to unfold.
Behind those bright eyes and nervous enthusiasm, Thomas radiated authenticity—a genuine, insatiable curiosity for the knowledge the world possessed. With time, this innocence would reveal itself to be a rarity, adding to his charm.
He had just arrived in town and was assisting his aunt with what would be there first meal together that night.
Mary Poppler, an elegant and reserved woman, had a smile carved with wisdom, her eyes brimming with warmth and love as she set the tables with silverware wrapped in cotton cloth.
With graying hair curled gently around the nape of her neck, Mary possessed a modest grace cultivated through life lessons and the gentlest guidance of her heart. Thomas admired her strength, felt comforted by her ever-present calm, and trusted her with every fiber of his being.
As they prepared the food, he excitedly told his aunt his plans for his stay in Salem.
Every word tumbled out in a torrent, revealing his excitement to explore the historical sites, wander through cobblestone streets, and, most importantly, learn of the town's local lore.
Aunt Mary listened intently, offering suggestions like a knowing guide. Though she knew very little about magic or supernatural events, she'd grown up near Salem and had heard whispers of witches and spells that clung to the town's fabric.
She loved Thomas dearly and tried to envision a way to protect him from harm without revealing the truth behind their family history. She knew that his parents would never allow him to wander the town alone despite his age, but she didn't want to deny his adventurous spirit.
So it was that the next afternoon Thomas was let to wander the streets and
explore the local attractions, always careful to keep to the more pedestrian-friendly areas.
He meandered around for hours, soaking in the vibrant atmosphere of Salem, Massachusetts in 1985. As he walked, Thomas took note of its peculiarities—ancient stone structures whispering secrets of times long past mingled with the colorful street banners and trinket shops run by modern witches.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, his teenage heart pumped with adrenaline and exhilaration.
While Thomas admired the unique beauty of Salem, Mynera had her eyes on the same young man with far different intentions.
The black cat emerged from a murky alleyway, weaving an intricate path through bewildered tourists. Those who caught a glimpse might wonder if she was merely a lost pet or something more otherworldly—an enchanted animal sent to set him on his devious fate.
Thomas felt a strange magnetic pull; he paused, involuntarily scanning his surroundings with growing curiosity.
He couldn't explain it, but he was being lured—called forth by a power beyond his understanding.
The sensation drew him deeper into Salem's winding streets, guiding him unerringly toward an unlikely place in which he should feel enticed: "Antiquities of Alchemy." The intrigue piqued within Thomas intensified like the simmering embers before they burst into flames.
He examined the strange yet inviting sign, drawing a deep breath to steel his nerves as he pushed open the door. Upon entering the dimly lit shop, his senses were instantly overwhelmed.
The air was heavy with the musk of aging relics and stale incense. It felt as if millennia itself coiled around him within these dark-paneled walls. Despite its eeriness, curls of excitement danced through Thomas' stomach, setting his anticipation ablaze.
His eyes widened as he took in the countless shelves and displays containing peculiar artifacts and oddities. It felt as if a forgotten time had been carefully preserved within these walls—objects such as this didn't belong in his world.
Amongst the dusty relics, Thomas spotted a book of charms enclosed within an ornate box; it was strikingly beautiful. Intrigued, he approached the volume with slow tender steps.
With fumbling fingers, he lifted the heavy lid from its ornate box to reveal an ancient book bound in tanned parchment and stamped with an elaborte seal that depicted a moon and stars design.
His eyes wide and unblinking, Thomas flipped through the pages carefully as images of exotic sigils and peculiar scripts inscribed upon every page brought goosebumps to the surface of his exposed arms. The air around Thomas seemed to pulse with life as if anticipating what magic was about to unfold.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," came a low, enigmatic voice from behind him.
Thunderstruck, Thomas slammed the book shut, the unexpected words shattering his momentary trance.
He glanced over his shoulder to find a striking woman who seemed to appear out of thin air. She was achingly beautiful—staring at her, it was almost as if time slowed down around them.
Black hair cascaded down her back in a silken curtain that played an enchanting dance with crimson eyes like a burning ballet. Pale skin stretched gracefully across elegant features, her beauty seemed atemporal, unchanging—frozen for perhaps centuries.
A shiver of anticipation caressed the newly awakened hairs on Thomas' arms. This woman was like nothing he had ever encountered before, and her allure seemed to call to something primal within him, which he could barely comprehend.
"I-I wasn't going to steal it," stammered Thomas, still clasping the book tightly like a drowning man clutching a rope.
Her ruby lips stretched into a slight smile, revealing small dimples that made her even more captivating.
"Of course, you weren't," she assured him with a knowing nod. But Thomas couldn't help but wonder what compelled her to think otherwise.
Stepping closer, the woman moved with grace and an ethereal elegance that conveyed control and confidence. She examined him intently, her bright eyes searching his like a wise seer scanning his soul for hidden secrets.
Mesmerized, Thomas struggled to regain his composure, battling against the odd pulsing energy that now coursed through the air around them.
This strange woman seemed to stir an unwanted awareness, her attention intensifying his every breath.
"You're not from here," the woman observed knowingly, still scrutinizing his youthful features. "I don't believe we've met," she mused, a smirk playing on the corners of her lips as she extended a slender hand. "My name is Ivalaine. And you are?"
Frozen in place—captured by those fiery eyes that seemed to penetrate the depths of his being—Thomas managed to mutter a shy yet polite response.
"Um, I'm Thomas. Thomas Poppler," he muttered awkwardly.
Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Thomas slowly reached out to take her hand, shivering at the ice-cold touch of her fingers.
The contrast between her frigid touch and his heated desire was just another bewildering twist in this growing whirlpool of intrigue and strangeness.
"A pleasure, Thomas Poppler," Ivalaine purred.
She lifted his hand, pressing her cool lips gently against the back. Her velvet voice seemed to pour directly into his very being, caressing every nerve with an indescribable thrill—and trepidation.
Ivalaine's vivid gaze never strayed from him, as if she could see straight through his unassuming exterior and plumb the depth of his innocence. To Thomas' dismay, he felt his face flush with a pink warmth under her vigilant stare.
The woman named Ivalaine turned her attention back to the curious book nestled within his shaking hands, her gaze unyielding in its fixation on the ancient volume.
"The title of the book eludes me," she confessed, her sultry voice beckoning Thomas closer as if they were old friends. "But you needn't worry yourself about that—it's certainly not something a novice like yourself could comprehend."
Thomas bristled at her condescending tone but contained his rising irritation beneath a thin veil of politeness.
As a curious and intelligent young man from a small town, he didn't relish being referred to as a 'novice.' Still, there was a magnetism that seemed to waft from Ivalaine, luring him deeper under her bewitching spell.
"It seems quite fascinating," Thomas finally answered, though unwilling to back down. "I appreciate books and knowledge—especially that which has withstood the test of time."
Ivalaine frowned at his show of defiance, seemingly displeased at having her charade challenged.
But her expression softened almost immediately, replaced with amusement at Thomas' unwavering thirst for knowledge.
"Well, if you insist on learning," Ivalaine acquiesced. "That ancient tome is indeed rare and enchanting. It belonged to a particularly skilled - and dangerous - alchemist who had dared to cross the wrong witch."
Her bright eyes narrowed in a knowing smirk as she slid her fingers gently across the book's tattered covering, evoking memories of long-forgotten rituals that echoed through the small antique shop.
Ivalaine withdrew the book from Thomas' grip with surprising delicacy, before carefully retucking it into its ornate box. The entire time, their eyes never left one another-a silent battle of wills between the ageless witch and the insatiably curious 18-year-old boy.
Thomas couldn't help but gaze at her from head to toe, feeling the stirrings of attraction and fascination combined with a vague sense of unease. But as an ardent admirer of knowledge, the young man found it impossible to resist her enchanting aura. With Mynera lurking in the shadows of the antique store, she observed the unfolding scene with keen interest, sensing this boy would be essential in Ivalaine's carefully laid plans.
"A witch?" Questioned Thomas. "Do you actually believe that all this stuff in here is real?"
Thomas asked curiously, his gaze lingering for a moment on the box of ancient spells Ivalaine had just tucked away.
The corner of Ivalaine's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "I do. There is real magic in the world, Thomas, if you only know where to look." She paused, gliding to a nearby shelf and gracefully tracing her fingers across oddly shaped bottles.
"Whether you believe it or not, Thomas, this shop serves as a nexus—a focal point of energies—that has accumulated over centuries."
Thomas leaned forward, his curiosity officially piqued. It was madness, the idea of magic in such a historical town as Salem—but it was intriguing nonetheless.
"What do you mean by that?" Thomas asked, still eyeing the box with curiosity.
Ivalaine glanced back at him with those molten eyes that held a flame of mystery and seduction.
“The power coursing through this building comes from the layers of intention woven here over time,” she began, gesturing to the artifacts and trinkets that adorned every available surface. Her voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, as if she were casting a spell. “These potions, scrolls, and charms don’t just contain ancient secrets; they feed off the energy and intrigue that has collected here, allowing them to grow even more powerful.”
Thomas couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of Ivalaine's mouth.
"And then of course there's me," she added.
Thomas looked back at her, uncertainty briefly clouding his eyes. Ivalaine continued, laying a hand on her chest with theatrical flair. "I am a witch who has lived through many centuries—a bearer of immense power and knowledge. This very shop is mine; I created it to collect every wondrous artifact I can find, each one a little piece of history."
Thomas couldn't help but notice the subtle grace with which she moved, how she seemed to float rather than walk. Yet despite this, he was still skeptical of these wild claims.
Magic was a tantalizing idea, but it felt too otherworldly to be real - and certainly not existing so close to him in Salem.
As Ivalaine trailed off, she observed Thomas' skepticism with a knowing smile. She took pleasure in intriguing this young man, her instincts told her there was something unique about the innocent youth. If her suspicions that his pureness may be the key to replenishing her powers were correct, then it was essential that he remain enthralled by her stories and enchanted by her allure.
Ivalaine couldn't afford his disbelief to shatter the spell she was so meticulously weaving, a bond that had to be almost unbreakable.
"Allow me to share just one of my personal trinkets with you," she offered invitingly, her scarlet eyes gleaming with mischief. With a theatrical flick of her wrist, she made her way towards a glass case filled with ancient artifacts and peculiar instruments. Thomas followed intently, intrigued by her captivating energy and seemingly boundless knowledge of the arcane arts.
In the dim corner of the antique shop, Ivalaine gestured toward a beautifully ornate, silver-plated mirror, shrouded in an intricate webwork of protective symbols and sigils that had been etched into the glass itself. The mirror's surface was murky and seemed to absorb light rather than reflecting it.
"Behold!" Ivalaine whispered seductively, her red-tinted eyes hypnotically fixated on the strange object.
Thomas studied the dark glass, his hazel gaze reflecting back at him from within its inky depths—slightly distorted and eerie. A shiver of unease slithered down his spine, yet he was unable to tear his gaze away.
"Place your hand firmly on the surface," Ivalaine commanded softly, her voice brimming with the promise of a spell waiting to ignite.
Thomas hesitated, sensing the anticipation crackling in the dust-laden air. Despite the misgivings that danced at the edge of his thoughts, he reached out a trembling hand, making contact with the icy surface of the mirror. The moment his fingertips touched the glass, he felt a powerful, surging pull drawing him in.
"What's happening?" he stammered, eyes wide as beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. Thomas felt as if he was losing control, almost disappearing into the mirror itself.
The world around him blurred, the air suddenly charged and vibrating with a strange energy. Thomas's vision wavered, the dull sheen of the mirror replaced by another world teeming with life and movement, a place woven from shadows and obscured by enigmatic magic.
For an instant, he thought he saw creatures resembling both humans and animals move at the edge of his vision, frozen landscapes streaking past as if he was flying through dense clouds, stars whirling overhead in a dark dance.
Then just as suddenly, the vision vanished, and Thomas found himself once more standing inside the dimly lit antique shop.
Ivalaine looked on with a devious smile as she released the magic that flowed through her veins and shuddered from the mirror. The ethereal landscape trapped within the glass melted away, replaced once more by a murky and unreflective darkness.
"Did you see it?" she inquired hungrily.
Thomas's mind spun with questions but he nodded slowly, unable to fully comprehend what had just transpired.
Despite the lingering questions in his head, the thrill of witnessing such an otherworldly event eclipsed all doubts. As the initial shock receded into a dizzying hum of intrigue and excitement, Thomas felt intoxicated by the possibilities stretching out before him.
Ivalaine watched him with hooded eyes, her dimpled smile not quite reaching them, as if she knew something Thomas didn't—something he couldn't possibly fathom at his young age.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she drawled with a hint of malicious satisfaction, her voice dripping with an inexplicable allure. The way it rolled off her tongue, the sinuous cadence of her words, was like the sound of sumptuous velvet being gently tugged and pulled. Thomas couldn't help but feel ensnared; he craved more. But rather than shivering under her spell, like a moth lured irresistibly into darkness, he remained intrigued by this enthralling woman—and wanted to explore even further.
Drawn to his purity and innocence, Ivalaine couldn't help but weave an ever-tightening web of enchantment around the young man. She knew she must ultimately claim Thomas's life force in order to maintain her youth and power, yet it was her insidious desire to play with him—like a cat teasing a helpless bird before the fatal pounce—that truly ignited her fascination.
Ivalaine's enchanting gaze lingered on Thomas, who remained oblivious to the spellbinding net tightening around him. With a shake of her silky black hair, she gestured towards the back of the store. The floor beneath them shifted slightly, revealing hidden steps leading downward into darkness.
"Come with me," she whispered in her velvety voice, her crimson eyes aglow and inviting.
The mere sight of this bewitching smile sent a shudder of longing rippling through Thomas's veins. Lured by her enticing allure and the mysterious aura that radiated from her, he meekly followed her behind the desk of the shop and through the old wooden door that stood there.
Once the door was closed behind him, Thomas descended into a dimly lit labyrinth of passages.
The subterranean network of rooms was reminiscent of the ancient catacombs he'd read about in historical novels, and that thought sent a frisson of excitement racing up his spine. Mismatched candles jutted out from alcoves, casting flickering shadows here and there on the mossy stone walls.
Ivalaine seemed to float effortlessly down the narrow hallways, her black tresses trailing behind her like an entrancing shadow.
Thomas could barely hear the soft rustle of her long skirt against the damp earth, his heart pounding in his chest.
The labyrinth of passages seemed to stretch out before them without end, unseen doors beckoning and concealing secrets untold. Yet, despite feeling momentarily overwhelmed and anxious, Thomas couldn't deny the intoxicating excitement that held him captive.
Curiosity mingled with alarm, and he followed closely behind as Mynera trailed several steps behind Ivalaine's hypnotic form.
Reaching one of the doors, she turned to face him. Her fiery gaze burned with an invitation, promising secrets that would be theirs alone in this hidden world. And Thomas, enamored with the prospect of discovering those forbidden mysteries and succumbing to Ivalaine's allure, made a silent pact with himself.
Yes, he would follow her into this secret chamber. Yes, he would let her captivate his senses further.
Thomas pushed open the concealed door, watching with bated breath as Ivalaine disappeared behind it, swallowed by a wave of darkness.
The space she had led him to was an enchanting secret chamber, which struck him as both seductive and unnerving. The glow from candles hanging above cast a dim yet warm light over her strange instruments and exotic trinkets.
Magical artifacts were haphazardly scattered around the room; Ivalaine carefully picked up a gleaming dagger as its ornate sheath tinkled idly.
Entranced, Thomas observed her light touch as she traced the symbol etched into the handle.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you here," Ivalaine purred, lifting emerald eyes to meet his gaze.
"I have a proposition—one that may quench your thirst for knowledge."
Thomas couldn't imagine what the witch was offering. But something deep in his gut told him that this hidden chamber, like the woman standing in it, was best approached with caution and a heightened sense of self-awareness.
As if sensing his trepidation, Ivalaine smiled wistfully. "I want to share with you something truly remarkable.
In exchange, I only ask for a little bit of your time and undivided attention," Ivalaine explained, her tone both enticing and foreboding.
Her crimson eyes burned with an otherworldly intensity as they met Thomas' hesitant gaze. As he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, she continued, caressing the cold hilt of the dagger between her long, slender fingers.
"Oh, and one thing further," she continued as she approached him slowly. "It's a little thing truly, I doubt you'll miss it much." Ivalaine's voice echoed softly in his ear as she drew closer, closing the distance between their two bodies. "A small sample of your innocence, of your purity."
Thomas blinked, taken aback by the request. It was so plainly absurd and ridiculous that he couldn't help but laugh despite the tension building in the room. "I'm afraid you have me at a loss," Thomas stammered nervously.
"You want... my innocence?"
The proposition sent a chill running down his spine. It was bizarre, yet the excitement of it all made his heart race erratically. He felt drawn to this mysterious witch like a moth to a flame, and her tantalizing offer only fanned the fire of fascination with her world.
"Bear with me," Ivalaine whispered, her breath warm and intoxicating against Thomas's ear. "I mean you no harm—quite the opposite, in fact."
Abruptly, she stepped back from him, leaving his senses reeling desperately for more of this bewitching woman and her forbidden promise. With a flick of her wrist, she set up several taper candles on a makeshift altar in the corner. The soft flicker of their tiny flames threw dancing shadows across her gorgeous face.
Ivalaine's eyes seemed to glow with a preternatural allure, as if the darkness within her wanted to escape. She beckoned Thomas closer still, her crimson lips curling into a sultry smile; an inviting dance that made him feel light-headed and full of desire.
"What do you want from me?" Thomas asked at length, knowing deep inside it couldn't simply be a matter of innocence.
But the curiosity coursing through him, mixed with a potent blend of excitement and unease, clouded his ability to reason.
Her voice slid over him like velvet, seducing him with every intoxicating word, "I need your virginity."
Thomas stared at her, completely taken aback. The air was thick with tension, a charged silence that seemed to tremble and pulse around them.
"What?" he asked, unable to believe what he had just heard. After a beat, he stammered, "Why?" And even more reluctantly, "How?"
Ivalaine raised an elegant eyebrow. She took her time explaining, savoring every moment she spent in Thomas' youthful presence.
"The energies that thrive within you are pure, untouched. Yours have barely been tapped into—unlike those around us. I seek this purity because it generates an incredibly potent force."
Her explanation hung in the air, the sensual cadence of her voice reverberating through Thomas's bones and sending his heart hammering wildly within his chest.
He looked deep into Ivalaine's fiery gaze, and it became increasingly difficult for him to think clearly.
Her power draped around him in a smothering embrace, attempting to lull him into a state of complete submission. He couldn't escape her magnetism; yet, there was a burgeoning resistance deep within him that wouldn't be silenced.
"Why me?" Thomas questioned again, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He swallowed hard, trying to gather the courage needed to stand up to this enchanting and manipulative witch. "There's got to be someone else that fits your criteria," he added, grasping at any opportunity to free himself from her hold.