Activity

The story shifts with a snap like the strings of a marionette at the end of a play.

Nathair finds himself in an empty, stone room silent as death.

A soft clip clop echoes louder and louder as the world bends.

And there is a stone throne ahead. So clean so large, but Nathair remembers when it was bloody, latched with chains that clicked and clinked. And of course, the long, thin needles dyed a crisp scarlet.

“Well well well, this is a bad idea.” Nathair says as he approaches the throne.