Chapter 3 Philippe
“Philippe Mattick, get up,” a gruff voice said, pushing roughly against Philippe’s shoulder.
“Where?” He squinted, trying to bring the room into focus. His right eye opened a c***k, tight, hot, and raw. His face felt like a thousand fire ants had bitten it. He could barely make out the shape of the Dark One in front of him in the darkness. A groan escaped Philippe’s lips as he sat up. The world spun as the blood rushed away from his skull, leaving behind a dull thumping wave of pain.
“Up. Let’s go,” the guard barked again.
“I’m going,” Philippe mumbled, rolling over to his side, and slowly pressed himself to his knees. His world spun, and his head felt like he was on a runaway horse. He sat hard, taking a few deep breaths to steady his world. Gingerly, he reached up
