The piece of roast I bite off is really big, getting caught in my throat. I’m taking a sip to swallow it down when Ogier asks, “So? Does she taste as good as she did earlier?” I shake my head, unsure of what he means. He points to my plate, “Esty.” When the gears in my mind click in place, I drop my fork, instantly gagging at the knowledge of what I just consumed. That was her other ‘use.’
