Twenty-Eight
I can tell from the smell that I’m lying in a healing institute. Memories of my encounter with Amon and my fight with Saber flash across the back of my eyelids, scenes painted with desolation and pain and thoughts of death that tear into my mind’s canvas. I wait a while, allowing myself time to wipe the images away with an imaginary cloth.
My canvas is clean. Whole.
I am alive.
I lift my eyelids and find myself in a bed exactly like the one Mom was in. After blinking a few times, I turn my head to the side and see the elf girl from Wickedly Inked sitting on the stool beside the bed. Before I can say anything, she leans closer to me and tells me the story she’s apparently told everyone else: She was on her way to Velazar Prison to visit someone and passed a boat that had ju
