The bottle in his hand is too small to feel as heavy as it does. Moe longs to place it back in the cylinder, hide it, but it refuses to be contained, and it desires other hands than his. He can feel its disdain for his touch; feel its desire to be in hands that might be able to rip out the cork. Unleash it.
‘Eustacia Hermaini,’ he repeats thoughtfully, hefting the bottle and considering the implications of Andreus’s revelation. The Mother in their world, so close to them, so close to him. What...
Published on August 12, 2013 15:47