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... om. Her voice was low, trembling with the kind of rage that simmers for years before finally boiling over.

The fading sunlight caught the sharp edges of her golden hair, now tousled and streaked with dust from battle.

Her eyes, those same golden eyes Auren knew were connected by blood, were molten with hatred. Her fingers clenched around her sword hilt until the leather groaned before letting herself loose,

"You are the reason for all this!!"

Auren stood still, hi ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

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Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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