Emotions were a sign of growing weakness. She had long since had the love and care that anyone would grow up with beaten out of her by the cruelty of the world and her own selfishness. Charn, that crumbling ruin, was a testimony to that.
Then why was something evoked—stirred up—brought about by the Lion? By Aslan, that fool of a Cat. He still bled on the Stone Table. He had given up his breath already to Fate, to Death.
She looked down at his still, lifeless form, down at where his mane had been cut away, to where his great golden eyes were shut.
She twisted her face away and whispered into the night,
"I despise you."
Both the listening stars, the Witch, and the great dead Lion knew that it wasn't true.
