Chapter 238: Fractured Sanity

**Thelma Zane’s POV** A dense, overwhelming aura of evil filled the air, carrying a strange allure, almost like the enticing aroma of roasted lamb chops. The paradox of it struck me—I was repulsed yet drawn to it. My body, battered and bruised, screamed for sustenance and strength to heal itself. That sinister energy hanging in the atmosphere felt like an invitation to indulge, but as I looked around, I saw nothing but a gaunt, leering old man and a brutish figure. I stood on a massive stone altar, surrounded by young witches. They seemed entirely devoted to the moment, discarding their heavy mink cloaks without hesitation. Clad only in thin silk nightgowns, they shivered in the biting cold, their breaths fogging in the freezing air. It was clear that even the concept of modesty was seen as a sin in the eyes of their so-called holy Azazel. I was no exception. They’d stripped me of my own cloak, leaving me with the same pathetic silk garment. The cold gnawed at my exposed skin,