As you go right, you hear a slow, burbling laughter behind you. In your rearview, you see Judith, smiling, sleeves pushed up on her arms. You don’t like her expression outside of her painting. She looks idle and malicious, like a bored despot.
“I knew you’d pick the right direction,” she coos. “Everyone always does.”
She leans forward and puts her broadsword to your throat. “Let’s go up into the mountains,” she says. “I love the mountains at sunrise.”