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Chapter Twenty Seven: Futility
River Black
River stared at Aelnith, looking up at him. He seemed like a phantom, pale hand extended, his eyes phosphorent red. It seemed like an unspoken deal, some gamble she didn’t understand the rules of if she took his hand. She felt so weak, so tired, that it was hard to think clearly, and all she wanted to do was go -home-.
Time slowed, as if giving her some unspoken mercy, as she tried to remember home, the faces of her parents, the voices of her friends. They were far away things now, watery memories that didn’t seem as sharply in focus as they should have been. Aelnith’s extended hand was sweetly deceptive. River knew better, but found herself taking it anyway.
Every touch, the barest brush of his fingers and she could almost feel his lips on her throat. A wave of desire and dizzyness darkened her vision and she gasped, unable to stand. She hated feeling weak and useless, helpless.
Before she could topple over,
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