THE WITCH IS DEAD.

Chapter: 58.

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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 de