Galinda's prison was spartan, but tolerable. The only one who came to visit was that horrid Witch wearing the face of her elder daughter, but there was obviously something of Azkedellia left if she hadn't just murdered her outright.
Sitting outside the hovel that passed for her shelter, she gazed up into a false sky. Had she had done the right thing by her daughters? Her people? So many had paid with their lives.
She could do nothing more. All she could manage was to wait, hope, and doubt.
Galinda ruefully admitted to herself that this was crueler than death.