The night wind tore at her pale-green skirts and her auburn hair. The mountains rushed past her in a blur. Desidora let the power come. She landed in a crouch at the stairs leading up to the Temple of Butterflies, shattered stone blasting out like smoke around her. Her raven-black skirts and hair billowed out around her in a phantom wind, and her alabaster skin glowed like the moon. She rose, and looked upon the horde of zombies that roared and gurgled and lurched toward her. “Bitch, please,” said Desidora, priestess of Byn-kodar, and with a wave of her hand, tore away the magic that locked
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