#but I imagine there had to be at least one healer amongst the death eaters

[daughterofyourdarklord]

Give me something about Delphi’s birth! Who was there when she was born?

“Come on - we need a few more pushes Bellatrix, just a handful more!” She’s half a mind to kick the mediwitch in the face, her magic far too violent to control right now, shattering random objects throughout the room at its own will, else she’d just curse her. 

“You can do this, Bella.” Narcissa reassures softly at her side, grip sturdy on her sister's left hand. Normally, her presence would be as assuaging as it had been for the majority of Bellatrix’s pregnancy - today, the older witch hardly even notices her.

“Bella, just keep going, Bella.” Rodolphus encourages from her other side, only recently freed from his second sentence in Azkaban. Briefly, Bella wonders if her clutch will break the frail bones in his hands - very briefly. 

To hell with his hand, to hell with her husband. 

Her thoughts, much like their words, are all a haze. All she knows now is pain. It’s such a vivid ache, misery ripping through her body everywhere, all at once. 

“Rodolphus, I need you down here!” The graying healer demands urgency in her voice. It’s with a bit of reluctance that the wizard leave’s his wife's side. Bellatrix has no idea what they’re discussing, all she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. Distantly, she feels Narcissa run a cold cloth over her forehead, gentle murmurs of encouragement follow suit. 

“One more!” This Bellatrix hears very clearly. It’s with a vicious scream that she finally finds the strength. The flames resting atop the candles throughout the room erupt with her cries. She’d been at this for hours, the sun had long since set and exhaustion settled in. 

Finally, her baby cries out, screaming to the moon and the stars.

The child's wails are loud and clear and perhaps the most beautiful sound Bellatrix has ever heard. A smile graces her lips and all the relief in the world with it. She leans forward-

“-No!” The medi-witch demands, pushing her back down gently. “You stay put, we have to address this bleeding, the placenta ruptured and we need to get that out now.” 

“The baby-?” Bellatrix hardly even gets out the question. 

“-Is fine. Rodolphus, come!” 

“Euphemia..” Rodolphus mutters nervously as she passes the baby off to him, with it Bella’s eyes follow. Her heart wrenches painfully at the frantic cries her child is screaming out. The baby is calling for her, not for Rod.

“Go!” She demands of Narcissa, the younger witch looks nervous for a moment before eagerly scurrying over to support Rodolphus. The babe’s cries do not falter.  

“Bellatrix,” Rowle calls, desperate to get the witch’s attention. “I’ve delivered plenty of babies, your daughter is fine - right now we need to make sure the same can be said for you.”

Daughter.  

Bellatrix smiles, a happy laugh escaping from her lips, so different from the screams she’d unleashed mere moments ago. Her eyes linger on Rodolphus and Narcissa as they try to calm the baby, but Rowle’s statement still registers. A little witch.

One who can’t seem to calm down even in the now loving arms of her only aunt. 

The room is dark save for candlelight and the soft glow of the moon. Bellatrix’s gaze reluctantly turns back to the self proclaimed mediwitch, determination evident in her stare even in the darkness. She listens to Euphemia despite her growing resentment for the witch, grabbing at the torn bed sheets with grit teeth as the healer helps to manipulate her body. 

Her daughter's loud cries, screams for her mother, only strengthen her resolve. 

Narcissa is shushing the child gently, Rodolphus beside her helping to clean the distraught baby. It is to no avail. 

Finally, Rowle has her patched up. The placenta is passed and Bellatrix is at last given the blessing to lean forward. Rodolphus helps the former mediwitch out of the room, quick to realize that Euphemia’s presence here is less than desired -  she played her part and they would likely never need to utilize her again. 

“Cissy.” Bellatrix demands, yearning arms reaching for her weeping baby. Narcissa seems flustered as she hands the newborn over, concerned that she was unable to soothe the child.  

The baby lets out one more shriek as she is being passed to her mother before settling against Bellatrix softly.

The cries instantly die in her throat - calmness overtaking her as she’s surrounded by her mother’s magic, reacquainted with that familiar heartbeat. Their connection is near instantaneous.

“Oh, Bella!” Narcissa breathes, reaching up to hide a tender smile. Rodolphus returns to them then, eyebrows arching in surprise at the babe's abrupt assurance. 

Bellatrix lets out a breathy laugh, eyes glued to her baby in such earnest adoration.

Already, she cannot get enough of her. “Hello, little dove.” She whispers through her smile. The newborn shifts gently at her words, previously scrunched up eyes slowly open in search of the speaker, an impossibly tiny hand reaching to rest in the center of Bella's chest. For the very first time Bellatrix Black meets her daughter's gaze. Her smile widens.

“Well darling, you certainly have your father's eyes."

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Anna you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Ophelia Pomfrey!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Anna, darling! You know how much we adore you, and Amos, and we absolutely adore Ophelia! We are so incredibly excited for her to once again grace the dash! We’ve definitely missed having her around. It’s always interesting to have a character that is more neutral in stance in the midst of people who are so polarized! The way that you balance her with kindness and seriousness really flushes her out as a balanced character. We’re also excited to see where the war will take her this time! 

application beneath the cut; tw: mentions of death, blood (in para sample)

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Anna, 23, she/her, PST

ACTIVITY

Probably a 6/10, I’m currently job-searching but I’ll be on at least once a day to do something!

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US? Through the hp rp tag originally, I think, but I’m already in this roleplay as Amos and as an admin.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I honestly don’t know. Maybe Neville or Luna? I took a lot of things from different characters and it sort of became a hodgepodge mix for me when it came when identifying with someone. Although… maybe Remus, actually? Especially when he was first introduced. He was calm and quiet and empathetic, and although he was a mentor to Harry, he was obviously struggling with his own issues and I identified with that a lot. Odd, I know.

ANYTHING ELSE? Just that I adore this rp so much (as you all probably know) and that I hope you all like Ophelia!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Ophelia: Derived from Greek οφελος (ophelos) meaning “help”.

Pomfrey: Welsh surname of French medieval origins. Derived from male personal name Humfrey (meaning peaceful warrior)

I honestly didn’t know that her last name meant that and now that I think about it, it’s kinda perfect. Obviously JK Rowling knew what she was doing.

FACE CLAIM

Deborah Ann Woll.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER *The following is from my original app – but basically, I missed playing her and thought that she had an interesting backstory and personality that could bring a lot to the rp!

There’s so many amazing female characters in this roleplay already, that I truly wanted to make one who stood out and would add something new to the mix we have. Poppy Pomfrey was always a fascinating character to me, especially for the crucial role she plays in the books – someone who is in charge of keeping the students of Hogwarts safe even when the school is attacked by Dementors, Voldemort, a Basilisk, etc. and I thought about how that would transfer to our roleplay. There’s so many fighters here already, that I thought it’d be interesting to have someone who’s a healer – someone in charge of making sure people stay safe and recover from whatever wounds they have, be it external or internal, and that’s how Ophelia started to form in my mind.

It was never mentioned in the series if Poppy Pomfrey had any family, but I imagine she probably did, and so I created Ophelia, who’d be her niece. She takes after her aunt more than her own parents though, spending time with her in the Hospital Wing even during her Hogwarts years and continuing her medical training after that. I believe she sees her aunt as an inspiration. Someone she wants to exemplify, particularly now when so many people are either suffering from the trauma of war, or actual physical ailments. Her parents however hold pureblood beliefs, despite their blood status – and strive to realign themselves with Lord Voldemort. Ophelia was expected to follow in their footsteps, but no matter how dearly she loves her parents, she has always been unable to do so.

She’s a healer – she’s not in this war to fight or to prove her worth, she just wants to prevent more harm from coming to anyone. She joined the Order for the sake of gaining more intel than she’d previously had about the war and how it’s progressing, along with more access to people who’d been wounded, but she doesn’t stand beside them in battle, rather on the sidelines waiting to see who’s been harmed in order to treat them. Ophelia abhors violence of any kind, and although she knows that this isn’t a battle they can win without some kind of fight, she still finds it difficult to involve herself as completely as others. As a healer, she implicitly wants to help everyone, regardless of which side they’re on. As a member of the Order, she finds it difficult to balance the differences of opinion and the guilt that comes with betraying what her parents expect from her, but she sticks around because she knows that this is the right side to fight on.

This neutral quality is something that I really want to explore. I believe she takes her job very seriously, and as such she won’t distinguish between friend or foe, something that’ll inevitably lead to her getting into more trouble than she’d planned for, or maybe will lead to her gaining the trust of people who might otherwise never reveal something to the Order. I think she can see where people are coming from more easily too, she understands the fear that drives the Death Eaters and Aversio (or that’s how she prefers to explain their actions) and Ophelia wants to give people hope, and along with that maybe find a way for peace in amongst all the violence that has transpired already. There’s a certain naiveté about that, which she’s well aware of. But going against the idea means going against some of her core principles, and so she keeps the mindset.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Pansexual, I don’t think she’s explored it much though, maybe some experimental kisses with girls every now and then and a boyfriend that lasted no more than month. Romances and sex haven’t been things that she invested herself to. While in school she strove to be on top of her coursework so that she could become just as proficient a healer as her aunt, and after graduation she slowly worked herself up from a mere intern at St. Mungos to assisting the head of the Potion & Plant Poisoning Department. All of that’s left her with very little time to devote to relationships, and although she’s a romantic at heart, she doesn’t see that as a priority.

Any ship will be remarkably slow burn, although I’d love to explore the vulnerability that comes with that and the ways she adjusts to having an emotional connection with someone.

She is a cis-female, and prefers she/her pronouns.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Old Blog: http://opheliapomfrey.tumblr.com/

Wand: Willow with Unicorn Hair Core

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and their ideal owner is often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. They have handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) the willow wands there have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn.

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard. Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’ and need replacing.

Boggart: Disappointment: more specifically, letting people down due to her own personal failures. Not being fully prepared to deal with a situation that she should be able to handle and losing the people she tries so hard to save.

Patronus: Those with the elephant patronus can be shy people, thinking everything through before acting. To some they may come off as worriers, but to them this is just how they function, they hesitate in all of their choices, but in the end they are comfortable with what they choose. They are affectionate, welcoming and warm to an almost maternal sense once they allow someone into their life. This is the hardest decision for these people to make, as they wish for peace throughout their entire life, and when they are hurt the emotional blow is severe. (x)

Personality Type: ISFJ - “The Defender” (x)

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Playlist:

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel I’ll take your part / When darkness comes / And pain is all around

Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars Just close your eyes / You’ll be alright / Come morning light / You and I’ll be safe and sound

All That I Am - Parachute And the light hits those eyes / As she’s dying to say / Just take me away from all that I am

From Eden - Hozier Babe, there’s something tragic about you / Something so magic about you

Silhouette - Owl City The mountain of things I still regret / Is a vile reminder that I would rather just forget

Piledriver Waltz - Arctic Monkeys I etched a face of a stopwatch / On the back of a raindrop / And did a swap for the sand in an hourglass

✓ Dependable

Out of her group of friends, she’s known for being the “mom” someone who assumes responsibility for everyone and who’ll be there no matter what else happens. It was a role she took on without thought, not minding the fact that she missed out on parties and having fun. She likes having people know they can rely on her, thinking that if they don’t have that knowledge it’ll be hard for her to treat them should they get hurt.

✓ Honest

She hates sugar-coating over the truth. Not seeing it as a kindness but as delaying the inevitable moment someone finds it out and is even more hurt because of it. Being lied to is a pet-peeve of hers, and she expects people to treat her with the same respect that she doles out to others. Being honest is a way of showing someone trust, even when there’s no reason for it, and it’s a very personal thing for her.

✓ Encouraging

The best way to heal people is to add a dash of kindness to whatever treatment you’ve already prescribed, or at least that’s Ophelia’s motto. She might be strict when it comes to making people rest and get the help they need, but when it comes to the people under her care, along with anyone else she meets, she’s nothing but patient and encouraging, wanting to put them at ease rather than set them further off-balance.  

✓ Altruistic

Although she loves her job for the knowledge she’s been able to gain, the main reason she became a healer was so that she could do exactly what the title suggests. She gives a lot to people, without ever thinking about what they might give to her in return, and she holds the firm belief that spreading kindness is the only way you can truly eradicate evil.

✗ Reserved

Although honest, she’s not willing to just word-dump on anyone. She’d rather let other people do the talking in conversations. It comes from years of sticking to the library and her studies more than on actual human interactions, and she has difficulty with conversations that aren’t about a patient or some new medical discovery. Sometimes Ophelia wonders if she’s too intent on her work, but she pushes that thought away with the knowledge that at least she’s not wasting time with meaningless conversations.

✗ Anxious

This is not a trait she’s proud of, and one she’s been trying to suppress all her life. But the fact of the matter is that she’s always been fretful, a little too intent on everything that can go wrong than being able to focus on the things that work. She blames it on the fact that as a healer she’s constantly on the lookout for things to fix and because there’s so many things wrong with the world, she has difficulty balancing it all.

✗ Methodical

Even before she started to gain an interest in healing, Ophelia always liked to feelstructured. It’s a slightly OCD tendency, and she tries to keep it from preventing her stress, particularly with how she can’t keep everything orderly and clean while in the midst of battle, but she likes to be precise. Scared that even the slightest slip up will cause the death of some other person to rest on her hands. Leaving something to chance is something she never does, and while some might call it obsessive, she prefers to think of it as merely planning ahead and being aware of all possible outcomes. She doesn’t know how to be anything else, especially now that she’s got her medical training behind her.

✗ Melancholic

It’s hard for her not to bear the burden of the deaths she’s seen. And as much as Ophelia tries to close herself off to the emotions that come with it, she never succeeds in doing so completely. It’s caused everyday moments to always be tinged with a sadness, just waiting for the next thing to go wrong, and no matter how often she attempts to remind herself to just live and not worry as much as she does, it’s something she struggles with.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“I’ve already started trying to invent some potions – simple healing concoctions that address some of the illnesses not already treated. But I suppose a cure for lycanthropy – it’s gone unexplored for so long and it’s terrible that someone has to live with that stigma. I’d most likely ask someone else to name it – because I’m not sure I could do that justice.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I wouldn’t want to take anyone with me – it’s Forbidden for a reason and I’d feel like I was putting them into unnecessary danger. And I’d… take a healing salve with me… or perhaps a basket to carry any useful plants for potions.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Ones that are unrelated to work and don’t involve logic. The ones where you can’t get advice from books or anything rational and have to rely on gut instinct alone.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I made a decision without thinking about it – or that I did something to purposefully hurt someone.”

WRITING SAMPLE

Battle was messy – blood and spells and bodies intermingling until Ophelia wanted to scream, her heart unable to bear the weight of all the hurt that others were causing. It was nothing like being in the Healing Ward of St. Mungos, no matter how much she’d tried to convince herself of it. But here she could see the origin of the screams of pain that seemed to multiply as the battle went on, could taste the hatred of everyone around her on the tip of her tongue, not just on the Death Eater’s side, but from the Order as well. It all made her want to recoil, curl up in a ball and wait for the monstrosities to be over. But although she knew from that very first mission that it’d be her last, sure that the violence that came with war wasn’t something that she could willingly take part in, she wouldn’t simply give up either. A healers hands weren’t meant to dole out harm, they were meant to help, and she was still certain of the fact that being in the Order was the best way she could ensure other’s safety.

After all, there was destruction in the aftermath; helpless souls calling out for aid in amongst the wreckage, and it was there that she found her peace. Stepping over the lifeless bodies in search for a life she could save, a hope she could grasp onto when the entire world seemed to be crumbling in upon itself. It wasn’t much, but she was certain that every life she’d be able to save was worth something, maybe not to her or anyone else in the field, but for someone else, that person could mean the entire world.

And yet, it pained her to watch others fall apart in front of her. The results of violence so evident that she couldn’t begin to shake it. And for someone who’d once been filled with the hope that she’d be able to make a difference in the world, Ophelia was starting to crumble, her smile wavering on the edges until she wondered how long she could keep it up. How long it would take for someone to notice.

But for now, she held her head up high. Intent on being strong because so many others relied on her being so. Her features drawn tight as she made her way through the makeshift tent she’d set up. The bodies she’d levitated onto little cots belonging to Order members, muggles, and Death Eaters alike, no matter the fuss the Aurors had raised at first. Underneath it all, they were still all skin and bones with hearts pumping blood and every one of them deserved the chance to live. Even if she’d had to bargain with the Order over the fact that they’d be able to question the Death Eaters once they recovered for them to allow her to treat them.  

The noise of someone entering the tent distracted her from her patient, her eyes narrowing as the elderly figure of Dumbledore came into view. His expression was grave, distant, and Ophelia instinctively stepped in front of the girl she was treating, young – probably still attending Hogwarts, identified as belonging to one of the more prominent pureblood families.

If Dumbledore was here, it meant only trouble. She was well aware of that by now, and with the way the tides of war were shifting, news was never something good. Hushed words followed his approach, her features creasing as his intentions became clear. They needed to question the girl. Sure that her connections could offer them some kind of lead as to how to progress, but although Ophelia understood the rush to get information, she wouldn’t willingly give up the oath she’d taken upon first becoming a Healer.

“No,” Her voice was firm, and Ophelia was slightly surprised at the fact that it didn’t shake at all. She’d watched her aunt stand up to the man many times while she’d still been attending Hogwarts, but she’d never thought she’d be able to do so on her own. But this was her job, and she’d be damned if she let someone take away the responsibility that came with being a Healer. Even in times like these. “This is my ward and she’s my patient, and I don’t care if she’s got information for you – you’re not going near her until she’s been healed.”

[dthoursonpalmer]

RAZE - 067 - I'd Kill Him Myself

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RAZE: Part 1 is now available as an ebook on Amazon or by becoming my Patron!

They’d never see me coming.

So I remembered my misplaced confidence, some three years later, as I forced my weary legs through drifts of snow up a mountain road higher than I had imagined could exist. Ahead rode Vasily Avosha Brobov on his sturdy gray horse, and I eyed him, and I feared, and I schemed.

Fear had driven me since leaving the service of Lonireil, as it drives many. Many are driven by it all their lives; fear of abandonment or punishment makes us attentive and obedient children. Fear of being alone makes us mild and agreeable. Fear of death makes us cautious and fearful of life, even more so. And finally, when we come to the end, fear of all these things makes us weep, for we can do little more. We cling to shreds, memories, soiled bedspreads, and hope that something is next. For some, they pray for the Knacker’s yard, and the gentle hand of the Knife God, who, too, is dead, and so understands. Others seek passage up the River with their Saints, while still others pray to descend to the Deep Kings and so to be useful in the tilling and sowing of the Deep Place, where new lives are made.

A storm had come in the day I left the healer’s wagon. Now we walked, the entire troupe behind the ghanavochas and the oxen and merchant’s carts, and a gray headwind rived at our skin and plucked at the tails of our coats. Snow coated the bearskin and frost clung to my brows, the growth above my lip. My ribs and my injured hand, where I’d lost the fingernails, burned, but anything was better than the dank inside of that wagon, the swaying and sickness, lurching and slamming on the trail. At least out here, my legs and back hardened. My lungs seared cold but pumped like a bellows and my heart surged with each steep switchback or legs-jarring, breath-gulping slip in the snow. My tongue, of its own accord, worked its way to the empty socket on one side where my tooth had been pulled. I squinted ahead into gray and blinding flecks and the backs of the wagons head, and the wind piped and whined along with the Kalughri war song the tevka sang.

Tall black trees lined the way to either side. Some provka marched ahead and to either side, keeping watch, while the tevka rode and sang and raised their banners in signal. I walked centrewise of the road, behind the carts, because I was wounded and couldn’t be counted on to fight well if it was needed. At least I was on my feet, not slung in the back of a cart like a sack of skins.

I turned at movement in the forest. My eyes scoured the trunks and bare branches, but I saw only snow and timber and rock. A few drifts of snow fell from above. The trunks moved in the wind, or looked as if they did. I shook my head. Ice-daze afflicts eyes and minds, they say, and mine were, respectively, paler and wearier than those of others around me.  I swung my gaze the other way. Estevo marched there, near the treeline, his gaze set on the dark beneath the boughs. A cheap bow of pinewood, as like to break as to shoot, was in his hand.

The trees were cut well back from the road, leaving a broad swathe of uneven, rocky earth open to either side. We were near our destination, or so the cutting told me; others had made the road safer for travelers such as we by making it more difficult for brigands or mercenaries or rival raiding parties to creep and sneak and escape. To our right, a cleft in the snow revealed the course of a spring, one of three that flowed down the mountainside from our destination; from the great Kalughnoran city of Balunkraf.

A cracking sound reached my ears. I spun again to the left. More snow on the air, pale wisps that sailed between the trees. Borne on the wind, or following? Ghosts? A draft of air? I walked, head turned, staring. The ghanavochas grunted and wagons thudded and grumbled in the snow. Voices rose and fell on the thin air.

Shadows moved beneath the trees, shifted in black, flitted from tree to tree. I blinked the cold and dry from my eyes, trying better to see through the swirling gray into the dim as my heart quickened. Shapes followed us, though of shadow or fur and bone I couldn’t tell.

A cry from ahead. I looked, pulse rising, and there, ahead of us, a shape loomed out of the towering, vastness of snow and wind and dusk. For a moment, I panicked; it was too big, too pale and blurred. The World-Eater the Kalughri spoke of around their campfires, or cursed by in the dark.

But no. The shapes resolved into high walls, slashed with tall, narrow windows. Towers above them like spines, and bridges strung between them like tendons. But no. Those bridges, I’d heard it said, were broad enough for carriages. Amongst the towers, shadows soared and darted, appearing and disappearing in the snow.

We weren’t far. I swung my gaze again to the trees. The shapes were gone.

Ahead, a tevka rode back on ghanavocha, calling orders as she went. It was Ivanyaska Broveschka Prupov Zhrovocha, her hair loose and frosted white. As she shouted, the scouts came in, the marching provka formed up. Wagons took single file and oxen lowed in irritation. Whips cracked and mercenaries shouted. She rode past me, pointing with her spear, shouting in her tongue for me to take a turn at the left flank.

I left the group, moving fast as I could, raising my steps high to surmount the snow. Before I reached the edge of the road, Ivanyaska circled back. Her ghanavocha threw up gouts of powder and bursts of steam rose from its nostrils, and the bells on its saddle and barding rang. The hair and sweat of the beast stank warmly as it grumbled and she reined it in beside me.

“We will have relief once we are inside; you and the other provka will be paid and set loose till we should leave again.”

My voice strained. The cold still caught my tongue, and though my skin was frozen, inside my coat and armor I sweated. “Yes, tevka.”

“Once the rasakanova grants leave, you are to report to the healer’s house. It’s in the Ulaghshak district. See to your injuries. I’ll not have wounded and weak provka.”

“I’m well enough.”

“I don’t care what you think. Do as I say, dur Nashak.” She leaned perilously down from her saddle and lowered her voice. “Ask him about his friend, Gorbeva. I must speak to Gorbeva, so have yourself introduced and tell her to contact me, but let no one see you, and tell no one else.”

I would be asked to tell, and soon. Vasily Avosha Brobov’s threat, and my pledge to him, lingered in my mind. He’d sworn he’d find out if I did. He’d sworn to kill me. Before I could decide, she jangled her reins and spurred ahead again into the snow.

It was no matter. In fact, it was better this way. I’d kill him myself.

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  RAZE – 067 – I’d Kill Him Myself was originally published on D. Thourson Palmer