Rain turned to ice,and lightning splintered, it splicedthe black sky, it seeped a bright white.All animals they fled,from the sky as it bled,pale death that fell veiling the night.

Wrath crawled out from the well,on direction from Hell,to get back what it once lost.With vengeance in mind,it set out to find,a specified soul to accost.When the Hell-well beckoned,Mother__ will now reckoned,her dead soul now wholly enslaved.Embodied in a rotting husk,the corpse reeked of putrid musk,her being wholly depraved.

Since the fall of Man and the return of Magery and our older ways, most disputes were settled in a civilized manner: sword to the face, mace to the neck, acceptable societal situational handlers

When you are in a room with Kurtis, whether its one or a hundred he is the only person that matters.

The whole thing becomes like this evil enchantment from a fairy tale, but you're made to believe the spell can never be broken.

He might have run off then, and thus avoided a great many adventures to come, but the girl cried, __ait!_ and he turned to face her. __lease,_ she implored from the window. __on__ go. Come with us. I promise you won__ regret it.__or a moment, Peter stood in the road indecisively, staring into the girl__ eyes as if trying to penetrate a great mystery.