She stared at Raven in a long second of shocked silence, before sagging to the floor.
She wasted and grew so thin that she no longer was a little girl, but the shadow of a little girl. The flame of her life flickered so faintly that it appeared sufficient to blow at it to extinguish it. Stas understood that death did not have to wait for a third attack to take her and he expected it any day or any hour.
In Desert and Wilderness
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She wasted and grew so thin that she no longer was a little girl, but the shadow of a little girl. The flame of her life flickered so faintly that it appeared sufficient to blow at it to extinguish it. Stas understood that death did not have to wait for a third attack to take her and he expected it any day or any hour.
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We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.
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They say when you meet somebody that looks just like you, you die.
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