Dorothy’s eyes seemed to trace over each twisting path of iron. His skin had burned around the iron, and had never stopped. Burned and burned and burned until his only option was to embrace the pain. It was the ever-present ember that kept his rage smoldering even on his best day. “One night, I left a gaming hall in the capital slightly inebriated and found the owner’s son harassing a female outside. It didn’t seem wrong to snap his neck—it still doesn’t seem wrong. He deserved his fate. The female, less so, but she refused to stop screaming.”
