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self-destruction

Castien's picture

On the Edge

Asarel had been shot.

It wasn't fatal, of course. The arrow had hit him just below the hip while they had been standing just off the Fancy Cakes' stoop, and Miss Luisa, Doctor Luisa?, had fixed him up. Castien had no doubt that it was Tel'arar's girl that had done it. They had the arrow shaft, they could prove the fletching matched.  What would be the point, though?

Bellani's picture

The Aftermath of Yesterdays

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Bellani awoke slowly. Painfully. She didn't dare open her eyes. As her senses came to life, her skin began to tingle. Soft pricks that built into a crescendo of painful stings as numbness turned into feeling. Her face was pressed against something cold, hard and smooth. The mere flutter of her eyelids brought a dizzying glare of blinding whiteness and her head pounded with the thunder of a thousand orcish war drums. When at last she could pry open her eyes and let her vision focus, Bellani realized that she was lying in her bathtub. She couldn't begin to fathom why.

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