Tales Of Corwin

That Wednesday night, Sandra took the evening off, and she invited Mark out for a date night at the tavern. She had thought a long time about the setting. The house felt like home to her now, and Brigit’s Hearth was a place most magical. In the end, however, she decided that she needed to be in the place she felt clearest and strongest, and that was here, in her own tavern, the place she had built up herself. She’d had her hair trimmed, too—not that Mark would notice—and she’d spent too much time dressing: fifteen minutes trying on clothes, and then ten minutes telling herself it didn’t matter what she wore, and then another fifteen minutes trying on clothes. In the end, she went with something that made her feel very confidently witchy: a black bodysuit with a deep purple tie-dye duster over it, and her favorite pentagram pendant at her throat. Mark arrived at around six, and Sandra was waiting for him. She looked fabulous, sitting there in the far corner of booth seven, with her gold pendant sparkling ent