The golden light of late evening spills across the sky as Arcana Spellweaver rockets upward on her broom, skirts snapping in the wind and silver-lilac hair streaming behind her like a comet’s tail. One gloved hand grips the broom; the other clutches the Grimmerie, its carved cover glinting wickedly in the fading sun. Her glasses catch the light as she throws a sly, self-satisfied glance over her shoulder; calm, collected, and thoroughly pleased with herself.

Behind her, framed by the curved balcony of Glinda’s tower, Glinda herself leans forward in outrage, her sparkly pink gown shimmering with every furious movement. Her ponytail bounces as she shouts after the fleeing witch, face flushed in a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

“ARCANA! You give that book back RIGHT NOW!”

But Arcana only smirks, teasingly lifting the Grimmerie as if to say catch me if you can. The whole scene glows with the theatrical drama of a final act; magic in the air, tempers high, a stolen spellbook, and a witch who knows exactly what she’s doing.

High above the tower, Arcana sweeps into the open sky, leaving Glinda sputtering with frustration, and the Grimmerie safely, if mischievously, hers.