The shadows of the clouds moved, and the skinny man sitting on the windowsill climbed down.
The chains on his shackles clinked with a crisp sound... He was indeed very thin, with the shackles on his hands and feet seemingly heavier than his body weight.
"Ellie..." His voice, belonging to the one called Mordred, was hoarse as if his vocal cords had been burnt.
"It's been too long since you last spoke." Ms. Witch turned her head to glance at him, then shook her head, "But I'm not Ellie. I am her daughter, Jillian."
"Daughter?" His expression seemed somewhat puzzled, then he fell silent, appearing to be recalling something.
Ms. Witch also furrowed her brow, muttering as if to herself, yet almost as if speaking to him, "Sixty years of imprisonment, and the poison created by a hundred secret medicine practitioners of the Magician's Association, have muddled your memories, haven't they...? Look at me, Mordred, you should remember who you are."
