Witch Baby wanted to ask Ping how to find her Jah-Love angel. She knew Raphael was not him, even though Raphael had the right eyes and smile and name. She knew how he looked--the angel in her dream--but she didn't know how to find him. Should she roller-skate through the streets in the evenings when the streetlights flicker on? Should she stow away to Jamaica on a cruise ship and search for him in the rain forests and along the beaches? Would he come to her? Was he waiting, dreaming of her in the same way she waited and dreamed?
Sometimes a woman's love of being loved gets the better of her conscience, and though she is agonized at the thought of treating a man cruelly, she encourages him to love her while she doesn't love him at all. Then, when she sees him suffering, her remorse sets in, and she does what she can to repair the wrong.
This world is one of ancient magic peeking from behind the curtains of the present in order to examine the ruckus it set upon the globe. This was the time of harmony and warfare. This was the era of risk and of adventure; of family feuds; of forced affection, of love unrequited; of wars which took lives, by the necks of both the soul and the body, and wrought the poor thing asunder until it was forced to let go or die trying. This was, and always will be, the era belonging to the legendary Royals who fought for love, for truth, and for vengeance.