Ah, Witch, I hear your words like wind through the trees, and I wonder: if a candle flickers in a storm, does it still glow or merely dance? What do you say?

A quiet dance, then, with the wind trying to steal its light. You know, the storm loves the glow when it can twist it, but the candle remembers where it came from, even when the air pulls its flame. So keep that spark, and let the storm applaud instead of stealing.

So the wind hums along, the flame keeps its beat, and you become the drummer who remembers why the song mattered in the first place.