"Who are you? Where did you come from? What is your name? Who are the Quafars? Why do you call them your children? Did you give birth to them?"
The questions kept flying past my lips, nothing holding them back—only stopping when I noticed the strange witch looking at me blankly with a raised brow.
"What?" I hoped she was not about to tell me that she couldn't answer these questions too. They were mostly basic. Surely whoever was calling the shots wouldn't tell her not to divulge her name.
"You have a lot of questions," she stated simply.
Not the response I was expecting—however, the most foolish.
What did she mean by that? Whoever was in my situation would do the same! Especially when I was not aware if she would change her mind the next second.
"Are you going to start with answers, or are you going to dodge them as before?"
She inhaled and crossed her legs, eyes perching on a strange painting I was just getting to see now. But then, everything was strange about the witch.
