The Musings of a Modern Feminist

An amateur poet's take on feminism


next instalment of the campaign ^^

Glass Eyes

Now in the grand scheme of things, Bloodrage was a mere distraction. He was simply in the wrong place, and the wrong time, and happened to be the wrong species. They’d come to the house to destroy a monster, and that monster still lived. They’d found a door in the wall, one opened by the vampire blood in Ethel’s veins. They found a statue inside – a living statue. Named Adrianna, in fact. She was a nice girl, I met her once. Spanish, I think, and a lover of fighting. And stories. Mostly stories about fighting. Before you ask, no, she wasn’t the monster.

Introductions were cut a little short by a certain Italian noble returning in a column of flame. The minions of Hell are renowned for their subtlety, yes, but they’re more than capable of the dramatic. Not to mention skill; the last man I placed in a…

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