Okay...

65, and I'm quitting for a little while. Probably only 30 minutes or so, I'd really like to get to 75 tonight, and I think I can do ten more. I mean, ten isn't a lot, really.

And I didn't even make a dent in the PILE, either. Not even a scratch. *sigh*

On a happier note...

AbNo2 is going well. I think I'll post a short (unedited) excerpt from the torture scene I wrote two days ago...

Zeiredan lifted him up and pushed him back against the wall. Cullen tried to struggle, but Zeiredan's grip was too strong. She placed the longest spike against his stomach and smiled at him.

"Iron won't kill you, but it will hurt. Where is the gold?"

Cullen closed his eyes. He heard someone knock on the door--Susan?--but he didn't have enough strength to call out to her to flee.

Zeiredan ignored the knocking and leaned against him. He gasped when the spike split through fabric, then skin, and heard an odd rushing sound in his ears, drowning out all other noises. He tasted blood in the back of his throat.

Zeiredan pulled out the spikes slowly, and Cullen saw his own blood stain the front of his borrowed shirt. He felt something shift inside his stomach, as if she had broken something loose. He tried to gasp in a breath and fire swallowed him whole
.
Zeiredan stabbed him again and let him fall to the floor. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. The iron didn't burn like silver, but he felt it nonetheless; a steady ache he could not soothe. He heard Susan knock on the door again.

"Where is the gold?" She pressed the bloody spikes against his throat.

Cullen tried to take a breath and choked on his own blood. He clasped his arms around his stomach and curled up on the floor. The ache spread, becoming a roaring pain that filled every nuance of his mind.

"Where is the gold?" Zeiredan shouted, losing her temper at last. She struck him across the face and his head slammed back against the wall. This time, fireworks exploded across his vision, nearly sending him barreling down into darkness.

He could not give her the gold. The gold belonged to Seleighe, and Zeiredan would only destroy it. Blood bubbled under his fingers and pooled on the floor. The room stank of death.

He closed his eyes.


Copyright 2002 Jennifer St. Clair

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