A crescent moon rose slowly into the sky, climbed to the center of the night, then sank toward the southwestern horizon.
The night was already past its midpoint, yet the surging sea of darkness could not further encroach upon Malfoy Manor, for a power even more evil than darkness lurked there.
A bedroom at the end of the third floor, facing south.
Vitia wore a white nightgown that revealed a hint of her fragrant shoulders. Leaning against the headboard, she turned her face sideways and silently watched the night sky as the occasional clouds drifted past her window.
During those days when she had been trapped in Azkaban, she had often become like a frozen statue, staring at the heavens through the cell's window opening, which was more like a ventilation shaft.
Though she had left Azkaban, Malfoy Manor was merely another prison with a somewhat better living environment to her.
Yes, she had been placed under house arrest.
She had long known that Voldemort was no magnanimous man.
During the days when Voldemort had been weak, he had been forced to endure her disrespect. But once he regained his power, it would be time to settle old scores.
Moreover, Voldemort would not forget the little trick she had played during his important resurrection ritual.
From the moment she left Azkaban, she had prepared herself for the worst—that Voldemort would kill her outright.
Being imprisoned now was already the best possible outcome.
Losing her physical freedom did not anger her, but losing the direction of her heart truly filled her with dread.
She had already arranged for her people to stay in the Forbidden Forest. The Centaurs would look after them, and Amosta was not entirely unaware of it either.
With them there, even if The Vatican discovered something suspicious