Legendary I am legendary. That is to say, there are legends about me. I do not see why, as nothing I had done in life was worthy of legend. The stories about me happened after I died.In life, I was a woman, and I did as women do. I served my husband faithfully; bore and raised his children. He defended our homeland, and I defended our home. I died as many women did in our time: a fatal blow to the head from an enraged husband. It matters not why he was angered, nor why he struck me. I was merely a housewife and this was my final reward for my years of servitude.He wept for me, the fool that he was, and begged for my forgiveness. He took my body to
Going Back to Yntraw Outside the shop, a man nervously approached the door. He would take a few determined steps forward before losing all courage, at which time he’d stop, turn, and go back the way he came. This repeated several times as Darina watched. He made a small amount of progress with each attempt, small enough that she grew impatient watching him. She stood beside her bicycle and waited. He would enter soon, she was certain of it, his time was near. She was there to guide him, but she couldn’t do it until he went inside.Darina screwed her face in annoyance and squeezed the handlebars on her bike. As they warped in her fingers, she heard a sh
3 25 2008 One must understand that in this profession there is a likelihood of hearing firsthand a man's descent into madness. It is not often that this is heard, however, as most patients are brought to us already gripped by insanity's claws, their conscious mind torn by their subconscious nightmares. A man submitted himself to our care today, fearing that the uneasiness he suffered mirrored that of his wife, whom he some months ago left in our care after she attempted her life. I will not give names as it is not in our practice to give away details without an estate's consent, however, as no from their estate has seen or heard from this couple in som
The Schelding Shift It made me uncomfortable when she looked at me. She was a stern woman, very strict. It was odd, and insulting, that she should save her softness for gazing on me. Sometimes, I'd look at her and see pity in her eyes. What sympathy did I need from her? The old hag never had children or a successful project. It should be her who receives pity, not me. Whenever she'd review the work of her interns, she'd chuckle when she got to mine. It hurt to hear her laugh. She found no amusement in the work of anyone else. Why was she singling me out? Her right hand man in the lab, however, was nice. I liked to be around him. Everything he said made me w
Sta.sh
