DEVON
While Harlow had stepped out to get my coffee and breakfast, I chose that moment to visit the witch in the torture room. As soon as I walked in, I caught her staring at the flickering flames like her life depended on it. The wooden chair made slight squeaky sounds as I pulled on it, sitting right before the lady who never tore her gaze away from the flames, “the last time we had a conversation was a few days ago, but you passed out right in the middle of it. Shall we continue from where we stopped?”
“Why don't you just kill me?”
“Death isn't enough for what you did to the young child.” My voice, deathly cold, filled the four walls of the torture room. The dimly lit flames flickered, casting shadows behind the witch, shadows with their own lives in them. My lips curled into a sly
