Beaumo
y. The bowl tilted dangerously, dark liquid surging up one side, threatening to spill completely
dance. Watched the dark broth slosh agains
settled. It spun once mor
droplets had escaped, arcing across the pristine whi
s. He was about to lunge,
't m
't loud, but they sliced throu
is eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. He was staring at the silve
s gentle as the summer sky, now held the frozen emptiness of a winter
mont he thought he knew was gone. In her place sat a creature
eady, each word a carefull
k the
wn his temple. He tried to laugh, a choked, nervous sound. "Clara,
h the barrel of the gun toward the bowl on the ni
rollable, primal urge that had stripped away my humanity and left me at his mercy. It was a potio
olor. He knew. Of course, he k
hed, thick with hi
movement, I pulled back
ic
e quiet room. It was the soun
" I said, my voice as flat an
ne
idence-it all melted away, revealing the sniveling coward beneath. He w
darting between the gun and the bowl.
wo
ther's coffin, of the cold earth on my own unmarked grave, was all the s
liquid. He saw his reflection in i
rvival, raw and des
ing so violently he almost knocked the bowl
t say "
n't h
contents of the bowl down his throat. He gulped it down in despe
d. The bow
heaving, the stench of the potion
rigger. I watched the man who had destr
e cold, satisfying certai
rst of
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