"So, what happened to the villagers?" I asked, crossing my legs while sipping my tea after I had just broken two more of Mr. Wickham's fingers. Three broken fingers, and I've finally set his mind straight.
"T-the black witch took control of them," he shivered, clutching his broken fingers to his chest. "S-she referred to them as her puppets—and it's been a few weeks since she turned them as such."
"What did she do?"
"S-she mixed her blood into the people's food," he gulped, not daring to meet my eyes. Obviously, he was contemplating whether or not to tell me the whole truth but decided to do so when he remembered the pain from his three broken fingers. "She took advantage of the villagers' poverty and sent out food every day, mixing a small amount of her blood little by little until the amount was sufficient for—for the ritual."
