Clarinda is such a purist. That wouldn’t be a problem in itself, necessarily, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s clearly not in her best interests. I mean, it’s one thing to take one’s grimoire seriously, but quite another to adhere to it religiously at the expense of seeking professional advice on certain matters.
To be fair, it’s not like she needs brain surgery or to organise four years worth of tax invoices; it’s simply a matter of banishing a particularly stubborn toenail fungus. Really, it’s something I’d expect her to be able to handle herself, and I’m surprised she’s having so much difficulty with it. Nonetheless, the fact remains that foot health clinics exist for a reason, and there’s no shame in availing oneself of their services if need be.
Some of Clarinda’s methods are a little shonky, if you ask me. She’s experienced enough to generally make them work, but the fact remains that mashed beetles in honey is an extremely outdated banishing method. My coven hasn’t used it since the 1970s. I’m not sure how to break it to her that everyone’s been using that new PACT treatment – photodynamic therapy or whatever it’s called. She’s so darned attached to that godforsaken family grimoire of hers.
You see, the craft can take many forms these days – even muggles are at it. I’m not trying to say that a perfectly executed time-loop ritual could be performed by the local podiatrist of Cheltenham, at least not as part of their regular podiatry services. But I am saying that there’s room to consider including less traditionally supernatural procedures in our conceptions of magic.
As I said, Clarinda is quite the purist, and she’d never allow that – she’d prefer to quietly shame herself for not coming up to scratch, even though it’s that stupid book’s that’s flawed rather than her powers. Ironically, look where it’s gotten her: having to rely on the regular folk to rid her of her nail fungus.