It was a long day of demeaning menial labor as the witch apparent held her minions in sway, the various collected animals bustling about the house, cleaning and searching for a long forgotten letter penned by their mistress malevolent some great time ago. Well, all except one.

Darwin crept around, looking busy while achieving nothing, a careful skill of infiltration that he'd picked up skulking about the back alleyways and dealing with gathering rumors. He watched as all the animals on parade like circus beasts wandering the hovel of a home and tried to deduce the power that held them under such influence.

There were tantalizing notes of Pneumatic energies in the air around them, like thin wisps of smoke from a matchstick or small candle, yet it wasn't warm like the breath of life was supposed to be, it was cold and dank. Clinging like a thick fog or morning dew, rising off the creatures but traveling no further as the y walked. These clouds of strange power even seemed to cling to each other as they passed, even to him, thought he tried flare the heat of his own powers, it would only dispel the force temporarily. His mind raced as he tried to understand this strange power, as it held clues to this wider advantage he sought from the dithering old woman.

In theory Pneuma could be cold, meant to linger as a means of storing power within a vessel or person. It could be said that all living things contain 'cold Pneuma' to some extent that need only be ignited to become the overly potent Hot or Burning Pneuma of which he took pleasure in wielding over the masses at one time. It had taken some efforts to spark this feeble body's own reserve of Pneuma to such a state, and one that existed in a state of diminished brightness no less, but Ignited he was; though he preferred the term 'Enlightened.'

But too his knowledge cold Pneuma was inert until lit, unless, this was yet again one of the lost secrets of those honored ancestors? the buried secrets that Church and State together refused to acknowledge out of fear and loathing for rightfully ambitious. Darwin's mind raced with possibilities of what might constitute this forbidden magic's powers that it would be buried so and restrained from the curriculum of future magicians and Brothers in training? What terrible power did they once wield, and give up? Of their own volition too, the cowards, the contemptable fools.

A tremor of magic rumbled through the home, a subtle shifting like the moving of the earth beneath ones feet. The spell surrounding the scattered animals wavered as the tendrils of cold will, the dancing animals all halted in confusion as the spell gave back their wills for a time, but only for a dim flickering moment as control was regained. Darwin saw it, and was able to feel the dull muffled pressure release for a time and his power grow for a moment to expand and nearly break free. Only for the door to snap shut as the voice of the crone rang out.

"Oh dearie Me, where has my mind gone. Luthor? Dorian, kitties? what are you all doing running all about the house like that. Come sit a moment with your old Grannie."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Darwin Shuddered instinctively as he heard her voice in the air, loathing like bile rising up in his throat as he gagged on her coddling sweet over tones. Knowing that she held some hidden power that he envied and desired, only made it worse for him to accept that he'd have anything to do with such a creature. But it was here that he had an opportunity to draw in close and examine the source of this power.

A thick slurry of sluggish energy, lethargic and yet boiling with slow intent, surrounded the dotting woman like a creeping rockslide. Tainted with something that Darwin found bizarrely familiar. Something about how it moved itched at the farthest reaches of his memories, yet refused to be placed in any neat fashion. What was it?

It was only as she reached out for him, he tried not to squirm or hurl. Her dry skin on his fur, the slightly too thin texture and fragility making his nerves scream to escape. But he swallowed his pride so to avoid upsetting her now, though he hated the sensation of creeping about to appease the old crones emotions. But perhaps in her ramblings she'd accidentally let slip some valuable secret, a name, a title, peripherally a region of origin so he had a reason to leave this place and never return. It was only a secret hope that he'd be able to do that or perhaps find his way back into the Order's Library. Research and records were a far gentler embrace than this old hag's.

"Oh, stop fussing you, Valentine was never good with pets but She was the by far the best at balancing the humors." the old woman tutted. "Now what was I thinking of? Oh yes, where is that letter? Hmm, but its been so long, perhaps a mere letter won't reach them. Maybe, oh where was that old stomping ground?" a slight gasp "Oh, I used to know. But everything is so, hazy. I must remember..."

the old woman rocked her self softly, "Oh, if only we hadn't lay eyes on that boy, such a waste of youth." she crooned. Darwin's mind was itching to boil out his skull and slip free through his ears, this old woman's ramblings weren't of any use whatsoever and in fact making it harder to remain docile. He felt like firing an Evil Eye, just to see if his miniscule powers could breaks that thick cloud of miasma.

And like that a thunderbolt slapped his memory overboard and into deep recollection. "Of Course! If It were a snake it would've swallowed me whole!" His outburst had a similar effect on the lady as she thundered to her feet in similar manner.

"Bless me Lord I just remembered!" hurling Darwin of her lap as she ran to a back room and began riffling through an old chest. "I need a bottle and paper.. Oh my sisters, I can't wait to see you again."

Darwin scoffed and rolled back onto his feet, instinct for landings had been interrupted by the woman's own revelations. cursing as he regained his thoughts regarding his own break through. For he remembered the name of this old woman's power, and reveal the methods by which he'd over come the demon and his arts to regain his body.

Miasma, the Art of Stationary Pneuma and Bodily function. Long regarded as the source of mythical Curses and the root cause of the Collapse of the Gergovians Dynasty in the Iron Age of Magic. Not a true lost art, but good enough.

Meanwhile he was oblivious, or rather willfully ignorant, of the hags movements and the letter she pens that would come to shake the nation as the words "My Dear Sisters," is penned upon parchment by the hand of an old witch.