In a quiet corner of London is a quiet shop full of old things. Racks of clothes line the walls, velvet and lace, cotton and silk, a wealth of textures waiting to be felt. Pearls and filigree lie in jewellery boxes, teacups balance precariously, and in the corner, an old armchair, seat worn so as to say, I was used, I was loved, I was comfy.
That seat has been empty for some time now.
Of course I will always remember Lestia, the girl was very dear to me. Her death was a real tragedy, and not just because she was so young. She was so brave as well - the world lost out when it lost her, and I often wondered what would have happened to the next generation of witches had she still been a part of it.
— From A Life of Leviathans, the memoirs of Helen Hadley