She stared at Raven in a long second of shocked silence, before sagging to the floor.

Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.

As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.

When life is a horror....Don't look like a ghost!

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.

We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.