The sun had disappeared completely from the sky by the time the Biansredge man had finished his work. Intricate symbols had been drawn in the dirt all around Adelynn. She had slipped in and out of consciousness as the man had poked at the dirt. But now he was standing over her, sweat gleaming on his forehead, bits of earth clinging to his already filthy clothing, dirt smeared across the knees of his pants and the cuffs of his sleeves.
“Are you going to kill me now?” Adelynn’s disimpassioned voice felt clumsy in her mouth. She wished she could feel anger - some sort of will to fight - but instead she felt only exhaustion and surrender.
“It will not be a quick death,” the man said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I will not be merciful.”
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