Catching Jaefel

Around the cauldron, a group of witches and wizards moved with unsettling precision, their whispers filling the air like the droning of insects. 

At a glance, they appeared human, their faces seemingly ordinary. 

But a closer look revealed their unnaturally pale skin, hair clumps missing from their scalps, and nails blackened and cracked like ancient wood.

Three women were tied to crude wooden stakes at the edge of the circle. Serenity, Mire, and Miss Margaretha. 

Their faces were pale with fear, their eyes darting toward the witches with growing dread. Serenity's lips quivered as she tried to speak, but the gag silenced her. 

Mire strained against her bindings, the muscles in her arms and neck taut as she fought to free herself. 

Miss Margaretha, though visibly shaken, maintained a hardened glare, her defiance unbroken.

"They'll be pleased when he arrives," one witch whispered to another, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves.