Sabrina lets herself be picked up, knowing that she's also allowing herself to fall into whatever Darrow's magic is demanding happen. After all, hasn't she spent most of her life imagining Edward Spellman, the father who would undoubtedly be proud of his spitfire daughter? Wasn't there some tiny part of her that had wondered what it might be like, as she waltzed in Lucifer's arms, to have some kind of father that was proud of her?

So she lets go of being a grown-up witch and hellspawn, and instead lets herself cuddle into Marcus's hold, tucking her golden head under his chin.

"You know we'd all go to the church if you wanted," she says. "Even Salem. He says it would burn his paws but I'm not so sure."