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I was propelled to the Excess Circle by the momentum of ‘my’ followers. Mostly I climbed in a fog. I could feel the hand of Fate closing. Any second, it would start squeezing the life out of me. When I was nothing but squished up human jam, it would spread me on toast and then spend eternity lapping up my soul. It would probably complain about my bitter, watery taste, too. Fate was cruel that way.

Ferrous climbed beside me. He kept up a lively babble and I hummed Mozart’s Requiem to tune him out. It seemed to fit my mood.

Myrtle’s ammonia scent finally cut through the haze when she climbed past just before the top. She looked from Ferrous to me. Then she looked from me to Ferrous. She clucked her tongue disappointedly and shook her head before continuing on.


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