janice nichole

Once she’d finally found a good spot, she remembered what she was trying to do. Slowly and steadily, she brought her hand up and over his chest, the light sheet rippling above her the only thing keeping them from the warm autumn night. Again, she brought it down past the end of the hair on his belly and only stopped once she felt that rough patch of hair just above his groin. With only the moon filtering through the sheet above she could barely make it out as she peered over her dad’s waist. Short and curly, much curlier than his armpit hair, pitch-black, though most of his hair was with only a bit of grey poking through.

Forensic artists still had to make a composite image of what this woman would look like if she could smile, or furrow her

Sophia clutched her hands tightly. “But I did know. I knew she had that venom because I helped her transfer its abilities to a vial of Abernathy’s Ichor. I warned her what would happen, how dangerous it was to keep that bottle, and implored her to destroy it. She didn’t listen and told me to keep it a secret. To my shame, I did, and now I have the king’s blood, and the blood of countless knights and soldiers on my hands. Cyrilo said she would take responsibility for anything that happened, but all she’s done is go with the flow, hiding behind lies. Every time I try to talk to her about it, about us facing our sins, she silences me. She did it today, which is why I came to you. I must admit, I’ve lost a great deal of respect for her.