With her grimoire missing, Prim had been grumpy and anxious, not really fit for public consumption. If the book to go missing was just an old spellbook it wouldn't have been so distressing – while she valued her small collection, they were the works of others. Not like the grimoire at all.
There had been work to do, though, and Prim had carried on with hers, dutifully playing the part of the mysterious fortune teller. She might have been a little less sharp on the customer service side of things, a little less willing to sugarcoat bad news, but for the most part Prim had done okay. Her thoughts were on her grimoire, though, and she spent her off hours scouring the circus grounds for it, or perhaps something else lost.
She had been tired when she finished her shift, drained from a few intense readings. Sometimes her gifts were delightful, showing her flashes of fascinating history. And then sometimes they were awful, instead giving her moments of the future filled with fear or terrible grief. There were in-between readings, of course, filled with mundane things. Those were fine. The hard things though, those were difficult for Prim to bear witness to.
Worse, she had very few people to really talk to about it. There was her brother, of course. But Prim didn't entirely fit in with a lot of the other witches; they had different and chaotic magic, and were difficult for Prim to trust. There were a couple like her, which she was thankful for, but Prim's time at the circus had not been filled with as much friend-making as Mona's.
Drained or not, though, Prim had checked the network for anything newsworthy, intending on falling into bed for a few hours before she began her search again. At least the work week was done; that would give her more time. When Mona's post popped up on her feed, though, Prim's fatigue disappeared. A few messages, and the witch was practically dancing with joy.
She managed to change out of her costume before she left the house but didn't take the time to wash her face. She had a grimoire to retrieve! And soon she was approaching the odd, wonderful little tea-house on wheels, waving back at Mona as she approached. “You are completely brilliant,” she chirped to the pretty redhead, her posh London accent coloring the words but taking nothing from her excitement. “May I come in?”