It is a black night. All is still. The prisoner is chained beside a cart, where she had been made to walk this long journey to Graustadt. Her head is hooded, wrapped in rough cloth such that you cannot see her features. Her feet are torn and bloody. A breeze stirs her long black hair, setting her chains clinking.
You review your notes: a witch, accused of practicing the blackest maleficium. She has been delivered here to be interrogated and executed. She is to die for the pestilence that has choked the countryside, a pestilence that all say is caused by her own hands.
She does not move. [](#'The Prisoner is EXCEEDINGLY difficult to kill....rumor has it that even if chopped into pieces, she will continue to speak, to exist, to poison the air with the fumes of her blood. The Prisoner has just arrived here after a long, long journey on foot, where she was FORCED to walk or be dragged along with the cart. The Prisoner does not know vous's name. This is a tale set in the Dark Age, before the Black Plague. Keep a grotesque medieval tone in the style of Matthew Gregory Lewis' The Monk. Though childish, render the Prisoner's dialogue accordingly, avoiding contractions.')
