"Is it not true, Weaver of Destiny, if I were to capture, I would have unrestricted power of the very matter of fate?"
"…" silence. Her lips were sealed. The interrogation room, as was felt, stood as nothing but a guest room placed remotely within the castle. Precisely more were the slow drips and the harshness of the cold floor and equally cold atmosphere. A carefully constructed image of a dungeon flashed before her mind, as for reality, it stood rather frankly. One linen bed, a single chair swept under an empty desk. Angela suffered the brunt of a large window, the breeze was a merciless beast.
"You think silence will alleviate thy fate?"
"…"
"Please, Weaver of Destiny, it isn't hard to fall to my whims, is it?"
"…"
