The flames were coming, she could hear them approaching. A subtle roar was gaining momentum from the crowd of firestarters outside of town, and they were headed straight for her tiny cottage. Somehow, word had gotten to them that there was a faithless in the village.
She pulled a duffel bag from under the bed and began haphazardly shoving clothes and trinkets into it. Her first pair of stones, a large feather quill, and finally the picture from her mantle of her dead wife. She stopped and looked at it before hiding away in her bag. Two women stared back at her, herself and her beloved, both women looked nearly identical and their ruse to pass his sisters had ensured their safety. Until now.
The screams were closer. She could hear the anger in their voices and smell the smoke in the ai...
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