Write

"You're supposed to be melting", he whined. He pawed in his pocked for more water, tossed a palmful at her face.

She shook it off, spat it back at him. "Melt? From a bit of water... you're an idiot."

"It's been told for centuries," he wailed. "Water for a witch a puddle makes."

"I've literally never heard that. And I've read a lot of lore. What kind of priest are you?"

It's a long story, he whispered as he looked towards the altar. He pushed off with both legs, tucked, flipped back over the fulcrum of her arms on his lapels.

She bent to take up her sword again, and when she stood, he was gone. A bit of smoke spread from behind a nearby column. Dancing sideways around it to keep her distance she found nothing by a cloak and a clear pool quickly drying.

Turning towards the throne set for the coronation, she smiled in victory. But hesitated, nagged by a curiosity.