Reflected in the steel above, I watch the red line widen as he traces the scalpel from my navel to between my breasts. I tense as the sting turns from blister hot to icy cold; but I won’t scream, denying him that final satisfaction.
Photo by quinn.anya
Dwaithelord — an honorific for the tribal leader of a coven of dwarven wraith soul stealers.
I should have trusted my instincts.
“You see, Detective, I have a little problem with knives.
Eunice sniffed the milk carton left on the counter and wrinkled her nose, swallowing hard against her rising gorge.
