they say there’s a mad woman in the ruins. she shows kindness in this world openly…. she must be insane!
(Damn it, Bourbon. Why do you do this to me?)
She tried so hard to ignore it.
After all, he had tried to draw her out before. Tried to pry open the doors. Tried to trick her. To plead with her. To play on her sympathies. To use her compassion against her. (Her soul ached sometimes, knowing that her husband—her lover, her best friend, her companion—had become something so awful.)
But it had been years since he’d tried anything at all, and the knocking was insistent. Now, drawing nearer, she realized that she could hear a small, soft voice. A child’s voice.
Her soul seized and she rushed forward, laying a hand against the door as she listened. “no, no, no, no! c’mon, lady, please. please. ya jus’…ya gotta be in there. ‘s my bro. my…my baby bro. he ain’t movin’, an’-an’ i don’—i don’ know what ta do. please, lady. ya gotta be there. ya gotta be real. yer my only hope. our only….” He never stopped knocking, even as he begged. His voice, tinged with a dense Hotland accent, was hoarse from crying.
She pressed her forehead against the door. It was foolishness to open it. The monsters beyond the ruins were not above using children as lures—they’d certainly tried it before. They had become cruel and hard out there, under her husband’s his guidance. Nevertheless, she stepped back and swung the door open wide. Because it didn’t matter if this was a trick or a trap.
She’d sooner risk her life than betray her soul.
Dragon Blog 