An overwhelming barrage of white noise penetrated her ears, companion to a high pitched tone slowly escalating in volume. Her hands, she found, were already over her ears as she tried to escape the unrelenting tumult, her eyes screwed tightly shut to reduce the stimulation, her body curled in on itself. But it was all inside her head. Her fingers curved in, scratching at her scalp and pulling her hair. She was moments away from screaming, from prying out her own eardrums, anything to escape the persistent din. And abruptly, the noise stopped. Just as suddenly as it always did. Katarina gasped, falling forward and catching herself on the coarse wood floors, finding that she was already on her knees. She didn’t exactly forget how much she hated this part, the coming back into her body, but it seemed to always surprise her how awful the sensation was. She gulped in air, unconsciously having held her breath once the noise started. She was still unsure of how to get herself to breathe through the reconnection. In the center of the shop, surrounded by burnt out candles, lay the body of another victim. The grandfather clock ticked loudly, pulsing in the silence, accompanied only by her quiet, labored breathing. _In through the nose, out through the mouth, _she chanted. The faint smell of smoke permeated the small space, weaving through the few shelves that were deliberately and carefully moved out of the way to create an added barrier from the large front windows facing the cobbled street. Drapes had been pulled, of course, a heavy, velvet viridian, hanging from ceiling to floor. The closed sign had been in place since yesterday at dusk. She rarely took any chances. Her breathing finally slowed enough to pass as normal and she sat back. She scooted her body across the floor and leaned against the counter. Her legs untangled as she moved, straightening out toward the center of the room. Toward the once unwitting man, who had just been passing through.  _At least_, Katarina thought with a smirk, _Stella was getting smart about who she took._ The first time was quite the scandal. A well known politician disappeared two days after his wife found out he was having numerous affairs and she had outed him for a cad, rather publicly at that. Eventually it was noticed he was truly gone, and no one knew where. She was obviously the first suspect, followed by the long line of women he had been maintaining rather elaborate affairs with. What’s more, the wife and one of the other women ended up running away together as soon as the trial ended, results ‘inconclusive’. Katarina shook her head lightly on a breathy chuckle. Stella was all about the drama. Stella, you see, was the senior witch currently possessing Katarina’s body. It was part of the process of becoming a witch in the first place. You can’t just go into the woods, dance naked a few times, grow some herbs, collect some cats, and boom, you’re a witch. No, no, it was a rather extensive commitment to make. After her parents had both died and her brother kicked her out, Katarina went straight to the one woman in her village she was certain was a witch. It took a lot of convincing for Henrietta, said witch, to even admit to Katarina that she was a witch at all. Weeks of daily visits finally broke Henrietta’s will down enough to invite Katarina to stay in her home. Etta, as she became to Katarina, lived alone, on the edge of town. A spinster, a widow, a divorcee, no one really knew. Turns out Etta was just a witch. She found her identity easier to conceal if left mostly to imagination. The next year of Katarina’s life was spent learning from Etta, first about reading and writing, some gardening tricks Katarina didn’t yet know, and some advanced herbal remedies. Eventually, Etta started in on the witchcraft. In retrospect, Katarina knew it was to be sure it was what she really wanted, and the passing of time was the only indication of her dedication. Collecting her skirts, Katarina slowly stood in the dark room. A few sconces were still lit but it was the middle of the night and just on the other side of the new moon. That was the only time Stella fully had Katarina’s body–the darkest night of the month, when the pull of the moon was the weakest. The next few days would be rather quiet as Stella recovered, soaking in the energy of her victim, but otherwise Stella was an active participant in Katarina’s mind. This was one of the last steps Katarina needed to go through in order to be a fully-fledged witch. This year of possession was an internship, of sorts. A rather intimate, quite violent and intrusive internship. Katarina shuffled to the side of the counter to get a drink of water, parched and exhausted from the long day and night. It had to be near dawn at this point, and she had to rest most of the day before preparing her shop to reopen tomorrow. Going through her mental list of things she needed to do, she heard a small grunt, nearly imperceptible. She froze, mid gulp, the glass still on her lips. Turning toward the sound, she took a few small, hesitant steps to the end of the counter. She set the glass down gently, wincing as it made a sound at all. “Odd,” the raspy, male voice was quiet, barely there. Katarina swallowed loudly. “Usually witches can tell when they find a _werewolf_.” A pause to cough while Katarina’s eyes widened when she saw the not-so-dead, scruffy man in the middle of the room push himself up to one elbow. “Unless your witch wants you dead, that is.” He sniffed the air, his head inclined toward her. “Oh, shit,” she said gently. “Oh shit, indeed,” the werewolf grinned.