She moved toward the armchair where he was sitting afraid that the face beneath the hands would no longer be the face she remembered. Afraid the images in his head would replay like an endless nightmare through eyes she had once admired for their impeachable softness.

There could be no truth in what he was saying. She told herself over and over, silently chanting an illogical protection against a witches spell; an evil she had seen in the images created by his words that had no place in the real world.

“You must not leave the house…you must not leave the house.” He was muttering, repeating himself over and over again. His eyes burning in the light of the living room fire as he dragged his fingers down over his face,

“Jed…You aren’t well,” she took a step forward holding out a hand to comfort him, then withdrawing it.