At the early hours of dawn, on one of the forest paths in Winstol, Azrael was squatted in front of his culprit, Lilian—she was the same woman whom he had met at the church.
She was bound by a rope around her hand and a piece of cloth between her open lips.
"My patience is standing on a thin line, and it is only a matter of time before it snaps." Azrael spoke, twirling a knife in his hands. "Speak now or forever remain silent."
"mhm…" The woman's words were muffled by the cloth that was tied to her mouth, and seeing that she had something to say, Azrael freed her of it. "I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THE WITCH!"
"Is that so?" He ran the blade of the knife from the side of her face down to her neck, and he tipped her chin up with it. The tip of the blade left blood trailing from the top of her throat.
"I swear, I know nothing about her. I didn't even know she was a…"
