Rose exhaled. It had been a breath that was long held, innumerably long. It was a great relief to finally let it flow out. Although she had perceived her awakening and the lid of the coffin cracked every so slightly open her eyes were still closed, unprepared to be awash with light no matter how faint after their long rest.
So, my sleep has ended. How long could it have been? Perhaps the world outside had ended in calamity to become a sun-backed wasteland devoid of any life. Perhaps the kingdoms the witch had once knew had fallen, and new ones had risen in their place.
Perhaps it's only been a couple of minutes. She jested to herself. That was certainly unlikely. Despite the great time she had likely spent inside the coffin her body had not atrophied, likely some sort of magic incantation placed on it was to thank for that.
How ironic. Was the use of magic not the reason I was sent here? She tested herself before committing to rising, flexing her fingers and massaging her joints. Despite the lack of atrophy there was a great amount of soreness, but that was to be expected.
She knew she had to move. If the incantation that held her had broken others may have as well. She was in a prison, and not a nice one. The Stone was where they sent the very worst of criminals, those who have committed any number of taboos, and those around her were unlikely to be very friendly. She set to escaping from her confinement, kicking forcefully at the now-loosened lid of the coffin that had confined her for so long. The lid was slow to come free, only slowly separating from the body of the coffin. After a minute it finally fell to the floor, making a distinct thud as it landed against the part-mosaic part-root floor. Rose slowly slid out of the enclosure, landing with a wobble on the unsteady and twisted ground.
"Phew! Finally, it's good to be out of that box!" She exclaimed loudly to no one in particular in a high, chipper voice that seemed very uncharacteristic for an evil witch. She stretched out, enjoying her new-found mobility. She was greatly saddened by the lose of her old outfit, a fine silken cape complemented by a green tunic and a pair of form fitting black breeches. She even once possessed one of the pointy hats that has inexplicably became bound with witch folklore and donned it proudly. Her clothing had now been replaced with a roughspun shirt that would be likened to a potato sack, and an equally unflattering pair of drab pants that served as a makeshift prison uniform. She frowned,
"I'm definitely not going to let anyone force me into a coffin again until the day I die." She said, once again speaking to no one in particular but well aware that her still trapped fellow prisoners may be listening.
Rose turned her attention the the her surroundings, a once beautiful structure. During her sleep it had been reclaimed by the earth, once clean mosaic flooring now one with gnarled roots. The Stone could at one time have been a tourist attraction, but now it was dilapidated and in obvious disrepair.
No one has cared for this place in some time. It's been abandoned, she observed. But there was something of greater interest than her surroundings: A soft voice singing. Friend or foe, she was aware of how unprepared she was. She was absent of any witching supplies, but she was already forming a mental checklist of what she would need to find.
First would come logs and kindling, supplies for a fire. Something to serve as a cauldron, then reagents. Roots, moss, plants, and much more. And then the supplies needed for the dark arts, chiefly finger bones and blood. The bones of the dead held a special power, the bones of the finger in particular. She would be on the lookout, but for now she had her singing friend to worry about. She wasn't totally helpless without her magic but absent of a weapon she had little hope in a fight. Even if she did find a weapon she was clumsy with a sword and hopeless with a bow, only having a passable grasp at how to use the staff she once carried as a weapon. She would confront the singer with the hope that she would be friendly.
She meandered towards the corridor from which the voice echoed. As she drew near she finally called out,
"Hello? Who is that? A friend, I would hope."
