Nicole's attention was instantly captured by the mention of the ceremony, realizing it must be the same event she had overheard earlier, undoubtedly related to her fate. With bated breath, she strained to catch every word, sensing that her destiny hung in the balance.

The witch clad in red responded confidently, "Chief, after administering another dose of the parasitic medicine tomorrow, that woman's body will be fully restored. We can proceed with the ceremony in three days at the earliest."

“Three days..." the elderly woman mused, considering the timeline.

“Very well, conserve these offerings. Once I transfer bodies, I'll require them to maintain my youthful appearance."

"Understood!" The witch clad in red bowed her head dutifully.

"Good. Now, escort this offering and administer the regular parasitic medicine to aid her recovery. I need her to provide more blood," the elderly woman commanded.

“Alright. I'll attend to it immediately," the witch clad in red replied, leading the weakened victim out of the room.

As the witch clad in red neared the door, Nicole's heart raced with fear, realizing she was on the brink of being exposed. Hastily, she pressed herself against the wall, but her foot accidentally crunched on a pile of dry leaves, betraying her presence.

“Who's there?"

The witch clad in red stormed out of the room, heedlessly discarding the victim she carried, only to confront a man garbed in white, his countenance an enigma in the shadows.

“How did you get out here?" she asked, taken aback by his sudden appearance.

There was no reply from the man, his visage betraying no emotion, a void in the darkness.

Inside, the elderly woman with a crown of snow-white hair, known as the chief, asked, "Emerie, who's lurking outside?"

Emerie stole a glance at the youthful man before her and answered with composure, "Chief, it's merely the breaking of a cocoon."

"It's silly to be startled by a little thing," the chief grumbled irritably.

“My apologies. Chief, I'll handle it," Emerie assured, sending a silent command to the man, warning him to remain still.

With that, she retrieved the victim she had abandoned, closing the door firmly behind her. Glancing at the man, she whispered, “Mr. Watts, let's go."

Obediently, Roscoe followed Emerie. As the silence descended once more, Nicole brushed off the foliage clinging to her body and rose slowly.

Nicole's face was still pale, having nearly been exposed. A timely intervention had saved her, a kick to her ankle sending her tumbling beneath a cascade of leaves just as Emerie emerged.

Though Nicole hadn't glimpsed her savior, the name spoken confirmed it. He was Roscoe. Could it be that he retained some semblance of sanity, pretending to have amnesia?