Marie, the cousin of Lucien, stitched away in the attic of their ancestral home. She never met anyone. Did not speak of anyone; not to the withered walls around her either.
This was what I was told.
With this my mother thought it fit for me to conjure an image of her; enough to not make me near her room.
However, I'd tip-toe to her door on many occasions, knowing she'd never lend herself to a view through the key-hole. Thus met with expected disappointment each time, I'd return thinking how such a lady could survive (how did she keep getting her wool?).
To be honest, it was the act of reaching out to her doorstep that mattered. I did not want to see a lady who had nothing edible given by any human we knew, and no formal place to clean/relieve herself. I'd asked my mom once (never after) about how the woman could survive, and she went on to say, "witches have that power."
Ha, why do folks think kids will believe 'em? I mean we do get all dreamy when you tell us such stories, but heavensake, don't assume we think such things are possible.