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Beyond this place of wrath and tears, Looms but the Horror of the shade
Beyond this place of wrath and tears, Looms but the Horror of the shade 
-- William Ernest Henley

I upset a witch. She'd send me packages through the post, like a face mask made of skin she'd worn and a stone with runes carved on it. If I touched them she'd instantly appear and there would be a desperate knife fight until I escaped again. It was impossible, she found me everywhere. She'd appear as a shadow and settle halfway inside my body, following me and mimicking my gestures, whispering terrible things in my ear, ruining everything. I left the country. It was suggested I travel to Invictia, a country I'd never heard of. In Invicita I sought the help of a group of local Indians. We waited, six of us, in a shack in the forest until the witch found me. Her shadow crept under the door and rolled towards me. The Indians used their magic and made her materialise in the flesh, knife in hand, and then simply bludgeoned her to death (they were big chaps).