She was more of a monster than any of the prisoners. She was burned and broken and ugly as sin personified and their lives were in her hands. In her hands needles were knifes and medicines were poisons.
Even death couldn't stop her busy fingers. She still wanted to see them all die.
"You let them go." She screamed as she delved for Deacon's heart.
"You let those boys go." Furious she clawed at his chest.
Deacon was gasping for air, the pain growing worse.
When she went up in flames he knew the Winchester had just lit a match.