The experiment had been announced in the official and administratively accepted method that so few experiments generally were: a message written out and subsequently posted upon the message board in the hallway directly outside of the dining hall. It was for this reason that Sicila O'Dair did not expect a high turn out; were the inmates even able to read? She had to wonder. No proof was irrevocably indicative of either way.

In her own hand she had printed in slim cursive, dark ink quilled upon the parchment she then pinned up:



Obviously, Sicila had mixed up the words "requested" and "mandatory," and (possibly for the Ministry's sake) she'd decided to use the word "lesson" rather than "experiment," but you get the idea.

The room was bare, stark, the whitewashed walls lit by only torches that flickered in their iron holders upon the walls. The Warden herself stood glaring against one wall, arms folded and wand out, awaiting the inmates' arrivals. With her was her partner and husband, the significantly more passive Michael O'Dair who stood in quiet contrast to his seething wife.

"Misha," she bit out, "This has gone on long enough."

"And it will continue to go on, Sicila," Michael replied steadily, his voice quiet, rolling his words gently in what could only be an odd attempt of soothing.

"The newest ones have all been girls." The witch spat the word as though it were something disgusting, an impossible idea.

"One will come," Michael said. "You must be patient."

And Sicila O'Dair, who has never allowed a person who gave her an order to forget their mistake, fell into silence for a while.

Michael said, "You will see."