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“I don’t hate your kind. I’m just disappointed by how breakable you are. If I held you down and fucked you the way I’m imagining fucking you right now, I doubt that you’d survive it.”
“I’ll happily kiss all of your aches and pains better for you once we strike camp. I’ve been told my mouth has healing properties. Especially when administered between a pair of thighs.”
“It’s all right, Archer. Hush, it’s all right.”
“I told him he needed to have dinner with you tonight.” “Oh.” “And I think he agreed.” “You think he did?”
“I’d prefer not to be here, actually.” “Sit the fuck down,” I hissed. “All right. Gods.”
“It’s okay, Holgoth. Renfis will talk to them,” Fisher said, handing him the reins.
His lips crashed down onto mine. For a brief moment, I didn’t react. I’d slipped into a daydream. This was a fantasy. It wasn’t… it wasn’t real.
“She’s mine,”
“Is that Malcolm?
“Breathe, Little Osha.”
you can’t recall your own name, remember that, Little Osha.”
“Such a pretty flower, blooming just for me,”
“Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.
“Evening, Wendy,”
The sound of Fisher’s genuine laughter was rarer than water had ever been back in Zilvaren; it almost brought tears to my eyes to hear it.
“I love a girl with a sharp tongue and a bad attitude. Kinda makes my dick hard.”
“But then I realized that it was you. He didn’t want me smelling like you.”
“I would. Y’know. Just to say that I’d done it.”
“He’s just not into the undead.”