The Troll Queen's Bride
“Ack. Ow. That was a joke, aright. Gods know Turiel sucks at jokes.”
“I do not stoop to seduction, I only take the willing,” Jarnja purred, her black eyes flashing crimson. Her white scars stood out against her molten tan, and she laughed, bringing us Shamayim coffee and a sugar bowl. We sucked the meat off the bone like a tribe of Heathen women – which, I supposed, according to my dead father – my throat clutched in pain at that thought – the three of us sure were.
“Jarnja, Yola – is there any hope of my mother or father finding peace in the afterlife?” I said, tears stinging my grassy eyes. My flaxen pageboy cut hung like shame across my ears. I began to weep.
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