Fandom: Harry Potter
Bathilda's vision had long ago grown clouded in the way that age brings all men into the clouds. Her mind was still sharp, but it might have been a mercy if that had been clouded as well; without being able to use her arthritic hands to write and without the clear vision to even revise what might have been written by a Quick-Quotes Quill, she felt a prisoner in her own head.
Of course, if her mind were going, she wouldn't know it, would she? She might have invented any number of very rational things, but they might be just that-- inventions.
This thought occurred to her often, especially as the people around her grew more prone to calling her 'Batty'. She wondered if they knew something she didn't about her own frame of mind. She tried not to dwell on the thought; down that road madness lay... unless of course she'd already arrived at that destination unawares.
Still, it was a hard thought to dismiss. She worried it in secret from herself, as one might poke a rotting tooth only while sleeping.
The day the Dark Lord knocked on her door was the day she finally knew for certain that none of the history in her head was contrived; he had come to ask about Gellert, about Albus, about them both.
And to kill her.
For Bathilda, to die with the realization that her mind was sharp was a relief. She told him nothing, but met her death willingly as a heroine of old in the tales of the country folk.