Episode 11
Kyle hadn’t branded me a witch for no reason. He’d burdened me with a stigma far heavier than that of a simple con artist or even a murderer.
I bore the mark of a witch.
From the cell opposite mine, I heard a faint sliding sound followed by a heavy thump—someone sitting down weakly. I murmured to no one in particular,
“Thanks for the comfort. I feel a bit lighter now that I’ve let it all out.”
Even Richard must have heard the exhaustion and hollowness in my voice.
I peeled my back from the cold wall and lay down on the hard wooden bed. I planned to just lie there for a while.
Then came Richard’s hesitant voice.
“I’ll… seriously consider the escape plan.”
I pulled the blanket over my head without answering. Normally, those words would’ve thrilled me, but right now I didn’t even have the will to escape.
I didn’t want to think about anything.
When I opened my eyes again, a large shadow loomed above me.
Someone else in a woman’s solitary confinement cell, at dawn?
I jolted awake, mouth open, ready to scream despite my cracked and dry throat.
But a large hand clamped down on my mouth before I could make a sound.
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
I thrashed like I was having a seizure, the chains clanking wildly. The man, seemingly caught off guard by my violent reaction, pinned my thighs down with his knee.
Just as I was about to bite down on his fingers, I met his red eyes—and froze.
“Ihahrt?”
I tried to say his name. Despite the muffled pronunciation, he understood and nodded.
He slowly removed his hand and got off me, sitting down on the floor.
“How did you get in here?”
“Just like you said. The locks were surprisingly simple.”
He said it like it only took a few pokes to unlock.
Still, I was worried. Sure, I’d learned some tricks from a professional, but Richard didn’t have any lockpicking skills.
If he had broken the lock with force, we’d be in trouble. And besides—wasn’t I supposed to be the one escaping through the bars?
I couldn’t hide my confusion as I asked,
“Why are you here?”
“…To return this.”
He held out a small medicine bottle—the antiseptic I’d used to treat his wounds, hoping to win his favor.
I’d nearly used it up and discarded it. He still had it?
“You got hurt earlier when the guard kicked you.”
“It’s just a small scrape…”
“There’s a bit left. You should use it.”
Richard gently rolled up the pant leg of my prison uniform, revealing my pale leg and the scraped knee.
Honestly, it wasn’t a serious injury. But he frowned as he looked at it.
When he applied the antiseptic with careful hands, a sharp sting ran through me.
“Ow!”
“Bear with it, even if it stings.”
Aren’t people usually trying to be gentle? Bear with it, he says…
“…You’re not doing this to get revenge for how painful my treatment was last time, are you?”
Richard glanced at me in confusion, then pursed his red lips and bent down.
He gently blew cool air over the wound.
He was copying what I’d done.
It felt… strange. I never imagined Richard kneeling in front of me, or blowing on my knee like it was something precious.
Was I that kind to him?
They say kindness during tough times opens people’s hearts, but all I’d done was share a potato and apply some medicine.
Did he fall for the potato? I was wondering that when Richard gently lowered the pant leg and said quietly,
“I believe in you.”
“…Believe what?”
Am I dreaming right now? That suspicion crept in.
“I believe you’re not a witch, Veronica.”
“…”
“Others will come to know your innocence too.”
He said “Veronica”… I never told him my name.
This was definitely a dream.
The date for my second trial had been set. This time, it wasn’t about my fraud or impersonating a saint. It was a witch trial to determine whether I was a witch.
I should’ve felt anxious or pressured, but strangely, I felt nothing. Maybe I’d already cried and screamed myself dry.
“Prisoner 14356, time’s up.”
At the guard’s call, I set down the document I’d been reading and left the visitation room.
Though I was locked up and couldn’t afford a lawyer, the Empire provided basic legal support for prisoners awaiting trial.
Never mind the part where they torture prisoners.
As I stepped out, I glanced through a second-floor window at the blue sea and soft green grass. Beyond the barbed wire and cliffs, sunlight sparkled on the waves.
Again, I had to admit—the setting was picturesque. Precisely because escape was impossible.
Prisoners were allowed to walk the lawn during designated exercise time. I hadn’t taken any walks yet, but today, I felt like I needed one.
“Since it’s exercise time, can I go for a walk?”
“…Only 30 minutes.”
Unfortunately, not much time.
Well, I can come back tomorrow. I vowed to walk every day from now on as I strolled onto the grass.
The breeze and waves were soothing—sensations you couldn’t feel underground. I wandered aimlessly for a while.
Then—thud.
What was that?
My arm had bumped into someone’s shoulder. I stopped and saw an old woman with graying hair staring at me. She was in a prison uniform too.
Let’s think of an appropriate thing to say in this situation:
“What are you looking at? Never seen a prisoner before?”
“Why are you blocking the way? Move it!”
“When you bump into someone, you should apologize!”
After a brief debate, I realized all three were classic criminal responses.
But come on, cut me some slack. I’d been stuck in solitary, speaking only to the occasional guard or inmate. My social skills were naturally going to suffer.
At this rate, I wouldn’t adjust well to society even if I did escape… After much thought, I finally managed to say something socially acceptable.
“Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“…”
The old woman just stared silently at my face. Was she deaf?
Maybe she’d been in this prison so long her social skills had totally withered.
Either way, I had no intention of keeping eye contact with this gaunt, vacant-eyed granny. I started to move past her, but then she spoke, lips cracked and dry.
“You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
Oh, so she can talk.
More importantly—a witch? The word set me off immediately.
“I am not! I’m a saint, thank you very much!”
The rumor must’ve spread throughout Fortress Prison by now. Even this old lady knew I had a witch trial coming up.
She looked me over and nodded like she’d figured something out.
“I can tell just by looking. My instincts never lie.”
“What exactly can you ‘tell’? You don’t know anything! What are you, some kind of witch expert?”
“So, you do recognize me.”
She’s insane. Just like I faked being a saint, maybe pretending to be a witch gets you somewhere in here too?
I didn’t want to deal with this delusional hag any longer. Just then, a guard called out to signal the end of exercise time.
I shot the old lady one last glance and headed for the guard. Behind me, her raspy voice called out,
“See you again, young one.”
I scowled and looked back—she waved at me with a mouth full of yellow teeth.
Ugh. If that’s what witches looked like, I’d never want to play one again. At least saints had a clean, pure image. No wonder everyone hated witches.
Shuddering, I headed back down to the underground prison.
The moment I got to my cell, I grabbed a salt-covered toothbrush and scrubbed my teeth furiously. The reason needed no explanation: that woman.
Should I be thankful she reminded me of the importance of brushing?
I spat the foam and turned—only to see Richard deep in thought.
Still like that, huh…
He seemed genuinely torn about the escape plan now. He’d looked serious for days, deep in thought.
Still, I could bet everything he was more focused on proving my innocence than planning an escape.
I hadn’t mentioned the word “escape” once in days. I figured it’d push him—make him want to save me before I lost the will to live.
“Prisoner 14356, come out.”
“Haa…”
The guard called my number. It was probably Kyle summoning me.
This time, I decided to bring him a little gift.
Even when he cuffed my hands, the guard didn’t notice the item I’d hidden in my palm.
