Hello my lovely people! I hope it's easy to tell when it's Zen pov and when it's Dinah's. I feel like writing the POV on the top would kinda kill the reading experience. But if it's hard, please let me know and I'll change it! (^ - ^) /
I can’t sleep. I lay in the narrow bed with Lydia at my side, snoring. On a mat on her side of the floor is Gunter, sleeping soundly. I sit up, feeling nauseous. It’s the second night of our travels, and despite my string of hope that I might be randomly teleported to my own world, it hasn’t happ
“Twenty coppers says his head gets smashed if I throw him to the wall!” The man who’s holding the kid asks loudly “Thirty!” “Fifty!” Before I can process what the hell they’re doing, the first man grins with sharp teeth, and then hurls the kid to the opposite wall. I’m moving before I know it, e
“What’d you say, hag?” He growls “Look at her mark,” Lydia moves over to where Gunther is crouched, holding onto him “Look if you don’t believe me!” What? My world tilts once more as harsh fingers shove the sleeves of my coat and shirt, until the ink that spirals from down my wrist nearly all the
“Oh, hush now Dinah,” Lydia wraps me in a hug “You must’ve been so scared. Don’t worry about Gunther! My man’s tough.” “Lydia’s right,” Gunther says as his wife steps away “Don’t fret. It’s getting colder, get in the wagon, both of you.” As Gunther said, we found another place to stay. An old wido
"I heard he travelled the whole empire looking for witches and warlocks," I put in, voicing the words like a curious, ignorant kid "Is that true? Did he hunt them all on his own?" "He did," Lydia says, but not fondly or proudly. She sounds apprehensive, almost fearful "Gunther and I were in Vynx wh
The Capital is so big. I’m aware that I’m gawking at the grandeur of the gates, and the statues that mark the entrance of Fenrir, but I can’t hold myself back. The statues aren't wolves, but something out of a gothic fantasy. So this is what Lycans look like. Lydia chuckles “You’re gonna fall off,
Holy shit, Zen is getting executed. The woman at my side shoves me aside harshly. “If you want to look so bad why don’t you go all the way to the bell tower, beansprout!” She hisses irritably In a startling moment of clarity, I recall the tower I spotted a little way off the church. A bell tower.
Time can not pass quick enough. I’m sitting in the barred window of the holding room. Outside, the sky is alight with the moon and stars, and cold air caresses my face. A steady burn in my wrists accompanies me, courtesy to the bits of silver in the chains. The one on my neck stings like an open w