( … ) [ the witch wasn’t sure how long she had been down in this dark, dungeon-like space. the lack of windows meant that she couldn’t even judge time by the passing of sunlight or moonlight. her hair was tangled, and the iron manacles locked around her wrists, prohibiting her of her magic, rattled with every breath. she could not remember how she had gotten there, who had put her there, but as soon as she heard the sound of the door opening, she did not bother to look up. instead, her teeth bared almost animalistically into a dangerous snarl. her voice was raw when she spoke, scraped thin by disuse and fury. ]
take them off. [ the words weren’t a plea. they were a threat — quiet, trembling with restrained violence, and promising far worse if ignored. ]