Another dream down the drain

Morrigan might have said she understood, but the voices whispering in Madeline’s mind were telling her not to trust the woman that was speaking to her. What if she herself was an imposter, how would Madeline know, what if they all were, what if it was all too late.

She held the sword tighter, her knuckles white from the strain. She looked around wildly, paranoia etching lines on her face. I don't know, but I must find him, my son... she muttered. He’s done something with him, I know he has. She was straining under the pressure, under the sleepless nights, under the voices whispering evils into her mind, her determination waivered under the strain.