A tense silence hung heavy in Elara's dimly lit room. The morning sun struggled to penetrate the clutter of herbs, potions, and dusty scrolls that filled the space. Ethan, still shaken by the previous night's events, shifted uncomfortably on a rickety chair.
Isabella and Thorne, worry etched on their faces, approached the blind crone seated at a worn table. Before they could speak, Elara spoke, her aged voice raspy but firm.
"I know why you're here. I felt it too, last night."
Thorne leaned forward, his voice laced with urgency. "What was that, Elara? I've never seen anything like it."
Elara's milky white eyes seemed to bore into Ethan despite her blindness. "A dark witch," she rasped, "attempted to possess you, to bind your will to her own."
A tremor of fear ran down Ethan's spine. The memory of his nightmare, the raw pain, and the unearthly scream still felt fresh.
Isabella, her voice tight with concern, inquired, "But how? And why?"
