Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

I was crying for the little girl I had been, who had withstood terrifying nightmares of death and blood and war and maiming. And when I had tried to share those horrors, the shock on my friends' faces had told me I was not normal, and I should keep my dreams to myself.

When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

An evil brute grows strong and now is on the verge of crossing over from the island to the world you know. His name is Hubal, and his strength grows as your world__ lightness folds.

Not long ago, man grew a sense of conscience. He defined himself by what he is, what he thinks, and, more importantly, what he feels__ailing to realize that all come from One single source. All of man__ qualities come from One divine being. And that One being has bestowed nature__ hand with the ability to balance itself. Where there is good, there is also evil. And where evil arises, so does good

Jez had gone from an evil twin to a sweet, even angelic, girl, all in less than a minute.