Then, as one, Roger and I turn towards the stairs, determined to continue the attack. The problem presents itself immediately as we start to climb, considering that there is a blank wall at the top of the stairs instead of a hallway or a door through which we can pass. When I get to the top, I pres
Ella I stumble through the doors of the clinic with immense difficulty, Cora leaning heavily and moaning on my one side, Rafe’s carrier bouncing against my other. People’s eyes go wide when they see us, but they quickly scatter out of our way to make room, shouting for nurses and doctors to come a
Hank takes another deep breath and roughly scrapes his palm down over his face, putting the thoughts together. Then he turns away from me, barking something out to the nurses about getting an ultrasound machine in here right away. He turns back to me. “Do you know how far along she is?” he asks, st
Ella I fall into a little daze as I watch Hank work, as I hold my sleeping baby in my arms. It’s not that I’m not paying attention – it’s just that…I don’t really understand what they’re doing or saying, so to me it’s all just quiet repetitive work. I do pay attention, of course, when Hank deems C
I nod eagerly to Hank and then carry Rafe over to the little computer in the corner, where I open a web browser and begin to search for the contact information of the temple in the center of our city, hopping to hell the priestesses there can do something to help. ________________________ Sinclair
Ella Rafe and I are standing behind the counter, staring at the front door of the clinic, waiting for the Priestess to arrive. I shift anxiously from foot to foot and Rafe grumbles and cries anxiously in my arms, probably picking up on my emotions. “It’s okay, little baby,” I murmur, tearing my e
I grimace a little and shake my head. “I don’t think we have anything like that here, or at least not easily.” On the phone the Priestess had asked if I could come to the temple, but I had been unwilling to leave Cora if at all possible. So the Priestess had said it was all right, we could probably
Roger Less time probably passes than it feels like. Because it feels like hours of being seared by fire, of the Priest hurling spells at us. And it’s not fire alone – it’s flames first, and then slicing spells that cut at us, and then wind – and ice – and something that feels like acid in the air