My dearest friend,These are the last words that I will ever put to paper, the last words that my mind will craft. I have passed on all my teachings to those few disciples that were brazen enough to ask for my instruction. Each of them, in their own accord, has reached beyond the level of wisdom that I have attained during my days. They already are far more powerful than I could ever hope to have become in my short days on this earth. They each have sworn their oaths in fragrant blood to pass on my teachings to their own disciples, but more importantly to maintain the secrecy of their identities. I am sure that this last statement will surprise you, more because of the significance of it rather than the action itself.I know it has been many years since that day, but each detail is easy to recapture by merely closing my eyes. Each detail has been carved into my eyes, masterfully placed there by artistic hands into a canvass that cannot be destroye

The Priestess’ POVHe's been under tremendous strain, lately. Work-related stuff has kept him up nights, pacing the floor. Politics and world affairs haven't done anything to ease his mind, either - if anything, all those other influences have upset him even more.When I lowered my lashes at him one evening and nodded toward our bedroom, he looked away. I went over and put my hand on his shoulder, thinking to seduce him with a touch."I just don't think I'd make good company right now," he demurred, chuckling nervously. His shoulder muscles felt like rocks under my fingertips."That's fine - just come and lie beside me for a little while, then."He turned away, and I saw his hand shake."You don't have to do anything, be anything, or think anything," I purred. "Just - humor me. Please?"He sat there for a long moment, brain racing around and around the same little track that kept him so agitated during the day and half the night

Camilla looked at the woman who was standing in front of them. She wore flowing robes which billowed about her body and made her look like an ancient creature but so utterly young which seemed impossible and improbable at the same time but Camilla had now understood that here, in this world anything could happen and she could have died. Instead she was here with a man who was trying to protect her and this woman was looking at her with disdain.“You dare darken my doorstep. Again.”The woman was looking at Percival who looked at her straight ahead and said,” You very well are aware that if it was not very important then I would never come here. And I also know that if someone is in the need of your help or your support then you are never going to push them away. I did not know whose door to knock.”“You know that the witch of strength and potions has suddenly found a lover and she will be busy in creating love spells and all that sh

Camilla looked at the Priestess and said,” is the body of the man still inside that trap door? Did you leave him that way for the dead?”“Obviously I left him there for the dead. There is no point why I was going to talk to him or keep him safe, did it? He felt that I was the prey and he was the predator. He thought a lot of wrong things. He considered that there was a lot of power in him which he could use it over anyone and that is where the difference lay. I had to show him that he did not. I was trapped and drugged waiting to be killed but I was not killed. I was underground which means that I could not even have brought out the wind to aide me in my doing but that was also not going to happen. But today we are going to test if you have the powers of the dark or the powers of the light.”“What does that mean? Powers of dark and powers of light? I thought that I was supposed to be a werewolf….and that affected me somehow…?

I AM NOT SURE that you can hear me. I am not sure if you are still near to me, somewhere in the dark. I am not even sure that you are still alive. Last night, I heard you sobbing. The night before, I heard you scream when they came for you. Perhaps it was your screams, later on, that were punctuated by my own. Perhaps you cannot hear me, perhaps you will not comprehend the words that I am using. Perhaps you are not there at all. Still, I will continue to shout out my confession, to you and to the One God, as long as my voice persists. Would that I could write, but there is no vellum, no ink, no light. My arms are chained to the prison wall, spread above me. It is futile, futile. But, perhaps, if you can hear me, perhaps, if you can comprehend, my memory will live on for another year, another day, another hour. My time grows shorter now. I can hear the drums beating, the drunken peasants cheering. Even in this dungeon there is the sickening smell of burning flesh. They have alrea