The sorceress's lament

A 30-year-old woman, a medieval sorceress, played the lute as she walked through an ancient village at night. The wind billowed her cloak and hair, but beneath it, the air was thick with tension. As she played, rats scurried into the shadows, their numbers growing with each passing moment. The infestation had worsened since the full moon three nights prior. She quickened her pace, her high stride echoing through the quiet streets. Yet, despite her haste, the rats closed in, their gnashings drawing nearer. The sorceress stopped, raising her lute to the night sky as if to call out a warning or perhaps summon a spell. The rats halted, sensing a threat, their beady eyes fixed on her. She played a haunting melody, the notes resonating like a death knell. The rats recoiled, retreating into the darkness, their chittering fading into the night. Though the village remained under siege, she felt a moment of peace as she continued her journey, the lute’s strings trembling with emotion.