Third Person P.O.V.
Pain greeted Veronica before consciousness did.
A dull, persistent ache radiated through her ribs and hips, her limbs heavy, as if she had been submerged in ice. Her eyelashes fluttered before peeling apart slowly. The room—or what little of it she could see—was dim, colored in shadows. Moonlight slipped through the cracked wooden blinds, casting slashes of silver across the uneven floor.
Her back was stiff. Her legs wouldn’t move. But her hands—yes, that she could manage.
She flexed them weakly, dragging her left hand across the sheet that half-covered her, coarse against her skin. Her muscles screamed in protest. She winced, turning her head with agonizing effort. That’s when she saw Diane.
The witch lay curled on her side ten feet away, in the corner of the smal
