Yet, my father’s reaction was tempered, dampening my excitement as he cautioned, “Temper your expectations. Like many of her kind, Camilla harbors deep animosity towards werewolves. It’s unlikely she’ll divulge anything to us.”
๐€โถล๏ฝแปืฉ๏ผฅ๐๏ฝ.ฤ๐๐ช
Acknowledging his point, I persisted, “Regardless of Camilla’s willingness to cooperate, I’m determined to meet her. I aim to contribute in any way I can.”
My desire to visit Camilla wasn’t solely about uncovering the truth.
As a fellow witch, I felt a kinship with her and yearned to alleviate her suffering, unwilling to let her endure her final days in such dismal conditions.
๊งเผโฌ๐๐ฎ๐ช๐ป๐๐ธ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ต๐ผ.๐๐ธ๐ถโฌเผ๊ง
Unable to sway my resolve, my father consented to my request.
Nonetheless, he harbored concerns about my potential disillusionment.
Before escorting me to the dungeon, he cautioned, “Prepare yourself for the possibility that Camilla may not cooperate. Try not to show your disappointment.”
I had no option but to acknowledge. “Alright, I understand.”
Thus, I accompanied my father to the dungeon’s depths. Given werewolves’ disdain and fear of witches, Camilla was confined in the dungeon’s most remote section.
Nearing the furthest cell, I found myself nervously rubbing my hands.
This secluded area was seldom visited. The darkness, dampness, and pervasive odor of decay created an oppressive and unwelcoming atmosphere.
Taking a deep breath, I entered the cell where the witch was detained. My eyes immediately found Camilla.
Her appearance was startling: emaciated, clad in tattered garments, huddled in a corner. Her hair had turned completely white, and though her eyes were hollow, they possessed an unsettling clarity and composure, as if she had witnessed the extremities of existence. Her face, etched with deep wrinkles, narrated her life’s story.
Camilla’s complexion was unnaturally pale due to her prolonged confinement, bearing an eerie resemblance to a cadaver.
Alerted by our footsteps, Camilla lifted her head and offered us a cursory glance. Upon recognizing me and my father, a hint of scorn crossed her features before she closed her eyes with disinterest.
Her disdain for my father was palpable; she couldn’t even bear to look at him
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.
To her, life and death seemed inconsequential.
Although Camilla was ware that my father, as the pack’s alpha, held the power of life and death over her, she remained indifferent. Her refusal to even feign courtesy underscored her contempt and resignation.
Debra’s POV:
“You…” My father’s brow knitted together. A storm was clearly brewing in his expression.
He was on the cusp of unleashing a tirade upon Camilla when I stepped in, intercepting his wrath with a gentle shake of my head.
“Dad, allow me this. Observe from the sidelines; I’ll handle the situation.”
He surveyed the scene-Camilla’s defiant stance, my pleading eyes—and after a moment’s internal struggle, agreed. “Very well, just tread with caution,” he conceded before turning away.
Yet, his discontent was palpable, manifesting in the sharp slap of his hand against his thigh as he pivoted.
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