“My Uncle Phillip, you senile, old fool. He means to end me.”
“Oh, you mean old Mad Phillip? I remember him,” the old crone said, rambling off to really nobody in particular. “Last I heard he was locked away. Suppose that’s the sort of thing you have to do to someone who sticks ‘Mad’ in front of their name. Whatever happened to him anyway?”
“He seized the throne and murdered my family,” Catherine said flatly with just a hint of contempt partially for him and partially for the old woman. “How have you not heard of this before? It’s been months since this has happened.”
“Oh, well that does sound like something a person who calls themselves ‘Mad’ would do. Reckon they should've seen that coming. I reckon news doesn't travel fast around here and at my age you stop caring so much about politics and all that. But that still don’t explain why you’re way out here, dearie.”
“I’m here because I seek the Cursed Well of Veneficus. Why else should anyone wander through such a horrible place at such an ungodly hour?” Catherine scoffed, stomping away angrily to reclaim her horse.
“Well, there’s lots of reasons, dearie. I’m here because I have to get to the blacksmith in North Haverbrook. Tomorrow’s Tuesday and he’s always busy on Tuesday’s so I need to get there early or else he’ll …”
The old woman’s voice trailed off as a realization struck her. Then suddenly it picked up again, talking faster and more nervous now.
“Wait, did you say the Cursed Well? Well, why the bleeding hell would you want tah use that?”