It took years before the witch let me leave. No matter how much time I spent in the sun, no matter how many times I burned my skin, the unhealthy lack of color remained. And the thirst... That wasn't easy to ignore. But I did. The old lady forced me to. 

The first time I tried to bite her, she chained me to a wall for nine days straight, forcing me to roast alive in the midsummer heat. She had painted spells across my body for months afterwards--and those things seared my skin like cattle prods.

That much I could deal with. The worst part? I had no idea how to get into the castle, how to kill the king, or what to do once he lay dead at my feet. And what of the guards? What of the others in the castle? What of the country? He may not have been the best king, but I'm sure someone much worse could have been sitting on that throne. I'm sure someone loved him. I didn't know who, and it certainly wasn't me, but I'm sure someone did.

Worrying didn't help me in the least, and yet it was all I could do. I would have spent my free time chasing squirrels and rats because I was that hungry, but the witch thought they were cute. She's have let those little fuckers raid her cabinets if I didn't stop them.

She was a piece of work, and far from sane to say the least, but I had no where else to go and no one else to lean on. She had made sure of that.