Hide Me. Help Me. (cont'd)

The answer wouldn't be as obvious as you think, trust me. If what the healer–whose name sounded like it was inspired by a toddler's gibberish–was talking about screamed how thoroughly unenjoyable this process was, her voice did way worse than scream: it grated my ears so badly it was painful.

For the life of me, she was more like a witch than Gertrude.

What process was this, you ask?

They labeled it "The Extraction Ritual." And by "they" I mean both the archaic healer and the white-haired witch who held me prisoner.

First, it was Gertrude who announced that I must do "The Extraction Ritual" while I was poring over the scroll which contained the prophecy –the only progress I was making was me feeling like I was brushing by, just merely scenting a breakthrough in my efforts, but not quite reaching the source of that scent.

However, as soon as she blurted out that I needed to do the ritual, I promptly delivered a well-aimed, supernatural blast of wind that sent her flying face first into