Chapter 60 The Witch Is Dead

• The grounds were cold, and her skin was damp with condensation. The night air felt sharp against her face, and it didn't help that she was pressed face down into the wicked cold floor. Her breath made small clouds of mist that floated in the cool air before dissipating into nothingness. Her hair clung to her cheek, damp and clinging to her tears. The only light around her came from a single candle burning from where it was placed on a broken piece of wood. She felt trapped, but more than anything she felt useless. All her life she's had to run from one obstacle or another, and now she was left without an exit route. She was trapped in this room alone, even her son had abandoned her. She was neither allowed outside nor permitted to go in search of him.
• She wished to apologize for how she had spoken to him the last time. He was all she had left. And if she needed to escape this Hell, then she would need his help. Her wounds grew deeper, and they smell like rot and decay. It stung her lungs and made breathing difficult. Every inhale was accompanied by a shuddering exhale, which seemed to echo through the space, causing more shivers. There was no way out. No hope. It would seem like a cruel joke to make her wait longer to die. Her eyes remained closed and her head leaned back onto the cold hardwood floor. Her hair hung limply around her face, dripping with sweat. She didn't want to move. If she did she might see the faces of those she had killed again.
• She wouldn't have the strength or the will to face them. She couldn't bear to look at their lifeless bodies or hear their screams as they died. She could never forget the sound of their bones breaking under her spells. She could never forget the sight of their blood pooling around her feet. Nor could she ever forget the feeling of their warm blood seeping through her fingers. They haunt her sanity. Being locked up for this long had made her delirious with hallucinations. Her mind and body were deteriorating faster than they should be able to do. Her mind has always been too addled to handle reality, and so she'd become something akin to a madwoman. She was nothing more than a victim of the spells that had been cast upon her onto others, unable to do anything about the situation.