"And here come the waterworks. You'd think someone had died, the way you're going on." The Witch lets out a little chuckle at her own joke. "Oh, wait."

She's less amused at being told to move along by some upstart who hasn't even the common manners to provide her name, but she's fast becoming less and less interested in seeing this play out. She's dead. Doesn't that entitle her to some kind of holiday from all this complaining? No one asks her what she's lost today, no, it's just complain, complain, complain about their own problems.

"Oh, and what are you going to do?" she asks with a roll of her eyes. "Alright, you can have your -- whatever she is to you. I'm dead, what do I want with her?"

There's a whole garden to explore, after all. With a sniff, she turns on her heel to go.