Carrion held the sword, turning it this way and that. After much consideration, he said, “It looks like a Simon.” “Simon?” “Yeah. Simon. Don't blame me. That's what it looks—” He stopped talking and listened. “See. It likes the name. It wants to be Simon.” “Fair enough.” The sword was done talking with me, apparently, so I asked, “Has it decided if it wants to gift you with magic in spite of your frail human blood?” Carrion smirked. “It says that's for me to know and you to find out.” “Hope that means yes,” I grumbled.
🐲🪙🦋
🪛- Simon
