FIONA
I could count on one hand the number of times I have felt this angry in my life.
My lips were trembling but I could not move, could barely speak.
It felt as though something inside me had been struck at, hard and clean, and the echo of it was ringing through my bones with a vengeance that threatened to flip me inside out.
I closed my eyes and made myself let out a shallow breath.
My hands were still warm, still tingling with the fading remnants of the power I had pulled out of me to bring that man back from the brink of death.
And yet, this pompous, balding, curtain wearing charlatan had the audacity to stand in front of me with his hands in his sleeves and remark about how “eventful” it all was.
I had nearly ripped myself apart to do what I did and yet it was not my han
