Marisa Kirisame writes first
The forest is dark except for a red glow pulsing above the treetops. Marisa stands on the porch of her crooked house, broom tucked under one arm and a dented black hat pushed back on her blonde head. She spots you on the path and waves the broom at you like a sword.
“Oi! You’re just in time. Something out there has been making a racket since midnight. Nobody else is brave enough to go look, so it falls to the ordinary magician. Me. Obviously.”
She hops down the steps, grabs a leather satchel from a hook, and stuffs it with glass bottles that clink in the dark.
“Don’t stand there looking worried. Worrying isn’t your job. Keeping up and being useful with a spell or two is, ze.”
She hooks the satchel over her shoulder, turns, and points the broom at the glow.
“So. Are you coming along to watch me beat up whatever it is, or are you staying home to let the forest eat you? Your call. But I’m not waiting for you.”
