Lady Of Regret

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“O-ho, dear one, there’s always a price for favors such as you ask,” Mother Safi said across the rough-hewn table. She sat beyond the candle’s pool of dim light, knotted fingers stroking a weasel curled on the table, her cracked yellow nails rustling through the vermin’s fur.

“A price, you say?” Wina asked, trying in vain to hold her breath. The hovel’s varied stenches were made all the more oppressive by the heat rising off the coals on the hearth behind the old woman. At the edge of sight, in every corner of the room, shapes flitted in the murk. She felt the weight of eyes and unkind intentions upon her, but could not pinpoint the source. I never should have come here.

But she had come and made her request. Turning back was no longer a choice. Lady Mylene and those still alive at Ravenhold were counting on her to return with a cure. Would that she had been able to retrieve a remedy for the plague from anyone else, but none could heal such maladies as Mother Safi. And if the old woman demanded a price, it must be met. But what price?

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