Althea slowly raised her head, her dark lashes fluttering as she blinked away the haze of exhaustion. Her eyes, hollow and bloodshot, burned with a dangerous glint, the only sign of life in her otherwise wan expression.
Since the moment she'd learned of Lorelai's kidnapping, she hadn't allowed herself a single moment of rest. Nights bled into days as she poured every ounce of her being into her witchcraft, her obsession driving her to the brink of madness.
The evidence of her efforts lay scattered around the throne room, macabre trophies of her relentless pursuit.
The mangled corpses of animals and men, the remnants of charred herbs, and broken vials of strange substances littered the space like grotesque offerings. In the center of it all sat the half-dead king slumped on his cold, golden throne, his once-regal figure reduced to a pitiable husk.
