Beaumo

y. The bowl tilted dangerously, dark liquid surging up one side, threatening to spill completely

dance. Watched the dark broth slosh agains

settled. It spun once mor

droplets had escaped, arcing across the pristine whi

s. He was about to lunge,

't m

't loud, but they sliced throu

is eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. He was staring at the silve

s gentle as the summer sky, now held the frozen emptiness of a winter

mont he thought he knew was gone. In her place sat a creature

eady, each word a carefull

k the

wn his temple. He tried to laugh, a choked, nervous sound. "Clara,

h the barrel of the gun toward the bowl on the ni

rollable, primal urge that had stripped away my humanity and left me at his mercy. It was a potio

olor. He knew. Of course, he k

hed, thick with hi

movement, I pulled back

ic

e quiet room. It was the soun

" I said, my voice as flat an

ne

idence-it all melted away, revealing the sniveling coward beneath. He w

darting between the gun and the bowl.

wo

ther's coffin, of the cold earth on my own unmarked grave, was all the s

liquid. He saw his reflection in i

rvival, raw and des

ing so violently he almost knocked the bowl

t say "

n't h

contents of the bowl down his throat. He gulped it down in despe

d. The bow

heaving, the stench of the potion

rigger. I watched the man who had destr

e cold, satisfying certai

rst of