Agatha Prenderghast

Generally speaking, Aggie thinks of herself as pretty smart. Smart enough, certainly, to avoid a candy cottage that might as well be a gigantic, cinnamon-scented red flag. Except that strange things have been happening and people have been acting stranger, many of them changing shape or memories or else something equally crazy. It's come close enough to her own loved ones that Aggie has to investigate again. 

Peering into the windows is no good. The windowpanes are made from sugar and they're cloudy like poured sugar, bubbly and a bit warped. Despite their fragile material, nothing Aggie does can break it. At first she jabs it with a fallen branch and then (stupidly) punches it. When neither works, she sends a bolt of power crashing that ricochets and nearly knocks her off her own feet. She's glad, at least, that no one seems to be there to witness it. 

Without a recourse, she goes around the side and finds the door swinging open, though she's sure it was closed a minute ago. She doesn't mean to go in, except that a tree root that she swears wasn't there either trips her and sends her sprawling, upper body passing neatly through the door. "Shit," she mutters, indulging in a swear word while there are no adults to reprimand her. Getting back on her feet, she looks around the cottage and finds it surprisingly empty. Not even a witch to blame. Weird. 

Forced to conclude her search without answers, Aggie brushes off her knees and puts in her earbuds so that she can have music when she walks home. 

Zoning out, it takes her far too long to realize that she's going in the wrong direction entirely, straying to the edge of the river where some of the magic is strongest.