“Isn’t khaki the color of vomit, Charles?”
Eleana’s eyes narrow at the man ahead while two sentries hold tighter to her arms. The hallway before her is hollow, beating a tin heartbeat of footstep echoes and thick silence. Charles’s spine straightens. Eleana smiles.
“What? Don’t like the idea of vomit? Forbid that we talk of such…Read More
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