“Here’s what I found.” She tossed the urn toward Gordek. Caught by surprise, he fumbled and dropped it. The piece shattered into several large slices and hundreds of tiny shards.
Linsora took a step toward Gordek’s desk. Both guards reached for her, holding her back. The instant fury she felt was disturbed by warmth, a gentle sense of warning, a sweet taste. An idea that this was not the time to test her will against Gordek’s was on the edge of her awareness. If she tried, she had a sense that he would destroy her. Not kill her, but destroy her - and she didn’t know quite what that meant. The warmth continued and Linsora looked around wildly for the source. It was Permac - it had to be.
The guards read her movements as an increased attempt to reach Gordek and tightened their grip. The warmth vanished. Her tongue prickled with bursts of sour. The room remained the same, but a sense of enclosure crept around her forehead like someone pulling a hood down over her face. Twenty spiders scuttled across her cheeks, pulling the rough hood tighter. No spiders, no hood, she thought. Not real. Her eyes were dry, with each blink her vision became more clouded. She struggled for breath. The space around her head was too small. The terrible dark closet Yokosh shoved her in. He slammed the door and leaned against it. He was bigger, stronger. She was only five. No air, darkness. He laughed until he snorted. You’re not Yokosh, she thought. You can’t know this. She inhaled in short gasps that made her head spin. No snorting Yokosh. Only Gordek calling her name.
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