With heavy lids, Irish made the effort to blink her eyes to wash away the blurry image of the vegetable beds and the pail filled with water in front of her. A piece of cloth gagged her mouth while both her wrists were bound behind her. She sat on the lawn; the grass blades tickling the back of her thighs.
“Look at you being defenseless when you brag about having traps here,” Sammy said. His rustling footstep from behind sent volts of electrocuting sensation into her entire system—one that caused fear.
He then stood in front of her with her Iryang costume and cosmetics.
“I can’t say I’m not impressed with your disguise. You do have the acting prowess to make us all believe that you’re indeed an old, frail hag when you’re young and active as a bee.”
Sammy cast all the props on the ground
