After that heartbreaking story - the story that was only ever going to be heartbreaking, as most deaths were - Hecate's smile twitched at Qebhet's attempt at lightness. She wrapped her hands around the cup, bit into the thin mint and let the chocolate melt on her tongue, the sweetness making her tastebuds flare, the texture of the biscuit crunching between her teeth a satisfying one.
Life said the thin mint. Life said the heat of the coffee.
"The shock is the worst," Hecate said, once the biscuit had gone. "The pain was bad too, of course, but... it is not the most painful way for a witch to die. It was my mind screaming out in denial, the fear that everything I'd worked for might be lost. The feeling of the world overcoming me, that I was entirely powerless to stop it. Knowing my life was stolen by men," she sighed, deeply, annoyed, tired and done. "Always by men, Qebhet."