The Conqueror’s Witch – 1: Four Swords – Truce

There was a gleaming silver sword that lay over his body. His dead hands were knit around the copper-chained grip, ruby pommel snug against the meat of the hands as if it was the only thing keeping the sword from falling off.

He lay in state on a golden and copper altar in the middle of a cathedral once built in his honor. Silence slapped against the marble, amplifying the smallest noise into an interruption.

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The Shaman War – The Ordeal

Faustina lay in the dark, panting; her breath slapped against the invisible walls of her safe room. Her eyes looked for any light to catch themselves on. There was none.

“Safe,” she muttered, although she didn’t feel it.

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