A Countenance Whiter Than Death
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A Countenance Whiter Than Death
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Jonathan Sleep
I used to be . . . well . . . nobody at all. A poor street dweller, one of the many vagrants of The Rothouse. By the standards of any ordinary, respectable citizen, I was a rat like any other, while for the bureaucrats, the merchants or, even more so, the secret-keepers, I was simply invisible—an empty space and nothing more. To hell with them all!
I could have been one of them! I had the means, I had the ambition and, most importantly, I had someone by my side, someone for whom I would have moved mountains. But someone else decided that Gray had squandered enough of their precious oxygen; that Gray had taken the final step along his path; and that was that.
It had all been for nothing! But I managed to writhe my way out of death's cold embrace and come out stronger than ever, having ignited within me the blinding white flame of witchcraft. I often recall how an old witch once told me: "He who takes what is not his will lose what is," and I have always tried to live by those words. But now? Well . . .
We'll soon see what's mine!