A short story

The witch had torn robes and gray eyes, her hands glowing a faint blue. She had knotted black hair, with bloodshot eyes and pale yellow skin.

The trees had been her friends for many years, since she had been a young child--a flower child, who had liked to walk with the animals and the forest.

The witch had lived longer than most humans ever could, and she knew dark secrets that nobody should ever know.

The wizard stepped into the copse, he with bright blue eyes and long, silver hair.

"I came," he said, his eyes soft and kind. "Just like I said I would."

"Yes. You came," the witch rasped. "But you're late."

"Nobody else is here," the wizard murmured, looking around.

"They decided it wasn't worth it," the witch replied. "They decided they couldn't bother."

"I can't blame them." The wizard dragged his staff along in the dirt, making a circle. "They gave up long ago."

"You never gave up." The witch bent down, and drew a star in the circle. "You always held your head up high. Always."

"I tried," the wizard said. He sat in the circle, and blew a spell onto it. "But time is closing."

"You're leaving?" The witch asked, her eyes wide.

"Ah, my dear witch," the wizard murmured, "the time comes for everyone."

"I'm coming with you," the witch announced. "If you're leaving, I'm coming."

"There's room in the circle," the wizard said, and moved over a bit, smearing the star.

The witch sat, and gazed at the star. "Let's go." She too blew a spell into the circle, and it started the glow purple.

"I'll see you there," the wizard said, smiling.

The witch closed her eyes and the circle became too bright, and a boom sounded.

And when the witch opened her eyes, she was surrounded by darkness.