"She was a slave when we were separated. Nine was one of my--" she stopped short, her lip curled into a snarl as she nearly spat the next word out. " Sire's slaves. I thought she died helping me escape."
Zoroka crushed what was left of her cigarette in the ashtray. "And then recently, I caught word that a woman matching her description had resurfaced. I mean to find out what that means."
Did she miss her mother? A memory flashed unbidden to her mind. It always did whenever she thought of Nine...
A twelve year old Zoroka was screaming in abject terror. Her father--the one she used to adore, the one whose lap she used to sit in and beg for stories--had torn at her clothes and pinned her to the floor. And then a chain wrapped around his throat, jerking him back. A sharp shriek cried out of the metal and the chain erected hooked spikes, digging into his flesh.
"Do what you want with me, but not my daughter," she growled.
A long blink later and she came back to the present.
Need Help? Contact: feedback @ bardicweb.com
All Bardic Web logo images are the exclusive property of Bardic Web Inc. and not to be
reproduced or used for any purpose without written permission. ®2016 Bardic Web