“There is danger here.”

“She’s definitely ‘noom-born at least.”

The old ones contemplate, while watching the dissociated feverish form of this young girl.

Their numbers seem to grow each day, when more are found and released from the clutches of their own doing.

Hugs and touching of brow are shared daily. Even tears and kisses. Tales of heroism circulate the halls.

“I will draw the truth out of her.” Kishaa says.

Entering the chamber she gently wakes this pale shivering childe.

“This won’t hurt darling.”

“Just a small cut.”

Her son would soon fall in love with the White Queen.


I challenge with "Lariat"

Picture - Edvard-Munch 1863-1944 - "The-Sick-Child"