ANDAL
My group and I march directly towards the queen’s throne room where she is waiting, each of us as grim as the last, except the witch who looks so unburdened she could fly despite the pain she surely feels. The girl got away again and worse, this time she left us with matching badges of dishonour. My lips curl with resentment, another witch and this one was hiding right under our noses all this while. The curling of my lips sends destabilising pain shooting right into my head and I grit my teeth so hard I hear them squeak, so I do not make a sound of pain. The rest of my men however have no such qualms and their groans and audible winces of pain accompany our sorry group, adding to our pathetic element and fanning my annoyance.
The fire was so sudden and so unexpected that I had no
