"Before passing your final verdict on my tongue, give me ten minutes in private to convince you of its multitude of other uses," my fearlessness riposted.
"Boys with pink lips do not interest me," her eyes narrowed.
"Me neither. See? We are already finding common ground in less than five minutes. Give me another century and I'll have 'letting him die slowly' off your list of possible ways for me to go," I proved I wasn't going away.
Shammy allowed, then crushed, a tiny smile.
"Last chance, Isharan - Ishara. I only came here to present my challenge to the current High Priestess. I have a pathetic, contemptible bit of filth to deal with," Shammy declared. She was referring to her death sentence.
Normally, the High Priestess was the final source of reprieve, but I got the feeling Shammur
