ScentOfThunder

Chapter 20: In Which Friends Unhappily Part Ways She was first aware of coarse wooden beams stretching up to the peak of a sharp, pointed ceiling, and then, slowly, the rest of the space came gently into focus. She was in a room, a cramped, sparsely-furnished garret, and she lay on a thin mattress stuffed with a material that was sharp and rustled beneath her as she shifted. At the sound, a seated figure in the corner of her eye moved slightly—lifted a head?—and she heard the creak of a chair being pushed back. The person stood and approached the bed. He spoke, said something, but although the voice was loud enough, she didn't qui

Chapter Eighteen: In Which Unexpected Allies Appear —her thin, warm arms around him—too small to comfort him the way she did—told him "you're better than this"— thumping against the wall, faint cries—every night, every day the dull gleam of eyes behind paint and selling smiles—"you're too good for this"—she told him, but when alone, he ventured out, kissed hands, swallowed rings—dirty fingers, they're all the same pockets, the same coins, dirty money—the kinds of people he grew up with—first kiss, first touch—jet black hair, coal black eyes, painted lips like his mother—a strand of

Chapter 17: In Which Fear Is a Friend to No One Despite its morally speckled past, Northermeed Island and the manor upon it has since become a stronghold of fellowship and heartfelt worship. No longer do its noble stone walls observe the evils of self-indulgence and violence its past owners forced upon it. No longer does its craftsmanship reflect sinful, heathen objects of lust and greed. Its Great Hall, once a ballroom catering to the rich and selfish, now hears only the music of devoted hymn. Its private sitting rooms, in which conspirators and murderers contrived their plans, now hear only the whispers of penitent prayer. Of the original