She barely moves, fingers resting against her cheek, eyes half-closed in something between relaxation and satisfaction. A slow exhale, a tilt of the head, and a flirty smirk - effortless, as if she isn’t even trying.

  But she isn't; she doesn't have to.

  The city guard moves with unnatural purpose, shoulders rigid, pace measured. He doesn’t realize it yet, but his thoughts are no longer his own. The whisper of her spell still lingers in the air, curling like the last tendrils of the violet smoke dissipating behind him.

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  She lets herself truly smile, just a little.

  How easily they fold, she muses. A few words, a well-placed glance, a magic sigil and even the strongest of wills turn to putty in her hands.

  He will do as she commanded. He will not question why. He will not remember the moment her enchanted voice slipped beneath his skin, wove into his very being, replaced his own desires with hers.

  By morning, he will have killed a man he has never met.

  And when he finally wakes from the spell, if he wakes at all, he will believe it had been his idea all along.

  The enchantress sighs, stretching out her fingers, admiring the shimmer of magic still hanging in the air.

  The fools let it be too easy.