The Test of Will

A second after insulting her mentally, icy sweat condensed on his paling face, and the weight of the mistake settled like a rock pressing on his guts.

His teeth cracked, the silence only deepening the unbearable pressure.

Would she lash out, obliterate, or, worse, torture him for the offense? He had no answer. But his veins couldn't help but bulge on his forehead. 

As he lamented his loss of privacy before these divine fools, the voice thundered through the crypt.

"You poor little thing dares call me a stupid witch?" The fog swirled and battered the tombs and walls, covering them in a frosty layer.

His breath caught in his throat, and his arms trembled around his chest—a vain attempt to warm himself as the chill seeped into his bones. Teeth chattering, he squinted through the rising blizzard, a bizarre sense of regret flashing in them.