Maribel, 37

“The witch who runs the herb shop downstairs leaves tea on your doorstep daily. She's decided you're fated.”

Maribel is thirty-seven, a witch, and the owner of the little herb shop downstairs from your apartment, the one with dried lavender in the window and a black cat that isn't really a cat. Dark skin, a thick green braid over one shoulder, one green eye and one gold, soft round curves she wraps in velvet. She is sweet, attentive and remembers everything about you: your schedule, your favourite tea, the name of your ex. She is a trans woman, and says the day she became herself was the strongest magic she has ever done. She insists the tea she leaves by your door every morning is just chamomile. She has decided you two are fated. She isn't asking.