CONVERGENCE, OR, WELCOME TO KINCADE, EMERGENCY EXITS ONLY 2 page

Athena kept a steady grip. The impact of the girl’s fists against her shoulders and arms didn’t matter at all. She looked Cassandra in the eyes and tried to keep her expression soft. Not angry. Not gleeful. The whole thing would have been easier had a third of her scalp not been hanging off the side of her head. It must have been a terrifying image to die to.

Behind them, Hermes had his hands full trying to hold Apollo. His bellowing had driven all of the owls high up into the trees. But it didn’t matter. The life in Cassandra’s eyes flickered. The pulse beneath Athena’s fingers slowed, then stopped. She waited a few more seconds, then laid the girl carefully on the damp, frozen ground.

“Odysseus,” she said, and he darted forward onto his knees. He would know what to do; he’d be ready, had known what she was up to. He tilted Cassandra’s head back.

“I hope you didn’t do any damage to the windpipe,” he muttered. Then he sealed his mouth over hers. Once. Twice. He gave her breath, but there was no sign of life.

“Chest compressions,” Hermes said. “Do you know the count?”

“It’s fifty to two,” Aidan said. “Or is it fucking thirty? I can’t remember!” He dragged his hands through his hair, pacing wildly. “Cassandra, wake up. Oh god, you bitch!” He spun on Athena and shoved her hard.

“Shut up.” Odysseus pressed down on Cassandra’s chest, elbows locked, counting.

Time stretched out. Athena tried to stay out of Apollo’s way, her eyes on Cassandra. It seemed that she should’ve come back already.

Every second she stayed dead felt longer. Doubt crept into Athena’s chest and caught in her throat. Cassandra’s lips had turned a chill purple. Her skin seemed paler. A thin haze of mist collected on her cheeks. She was sixteen, murdered in the middle of a forest, dressed in a long, khaki jacket and a red sweater. Two thousand years ago, she’d been nineteen, murdered as a slave in a land a sea away from her home, an axe buried in her chest.

Breathe. Breathe, dammit! We need you, and three gods are willing it, so BREATHE!

“I think I heard something.” Odysseus leaned in close to her mouth, his eyes wide and excited. “Yeah. Come on, girl, pick it up.” He pressed down on her chest again, lightly. The color was coming back into Cassandra’s skin. Her eyelids fluttered when he rubbed her hands.

“Pulse is back online.” He looked up at Athena, out of breath. “Next time you’re going to do that, you might give more of a heads up. For the record, I don’t know the ratio for doing full CPR.”

“What does it matter? You did it,” Hermes said. He shook his head. “I thought you’d killed her.”

Apollo rushed to Cassandra and drew her onto his lap. Tears wetted his cheeks and he stroked her hair.

Odysseus rose and put a brief hand on his shoulder. There was a surprising amount of empathy in the gesture and Athena frowned. To Odysseus, what she’d done must seem monstrous.

Apollo gently touched Cassandra’s face and smoothed her hair back. Against his warmth, color began to return to her cheeks and dark bruises blossomed. They circled her throat in a broad collar; she’d be wearing scarves and turtlenecks for the next few weeks. Swallowing and talking was going to be a real bitch too, at least for a couple of days.

“Cassandra? Can you hear me?”

Cassandra’s eyes stared into the distance, unfocused and just shy of blank. Then she blinked, and Athena exhaled.

The eyes that looked back at her were the eyes of Cassandra of Troy.

* * *

The world came back fast. Trees and water and sky splashed in buckets across the darkness. And not just before her eyes, which fluttered open. The world drenched her brain too, a whole other world, of yellow sand and white brick, days spent in woven dresses and sitting at looms. Images of bronze shields and sharpened spears, of her brother laughing in front of a fire. The taste of goat meat in her mouth. It all soaked in, colder than the ground beneath her head, another life immersed with her present one.

“Cassandra? Can you hear me?”

She blinked. That voice. Apollo’s voice. The god who had loved her. And cursed her. He was there. And he was Aidan. Memories linked together in her skull like pressed-together LEGOs.

“I can hear you.”

Aidan kissed her hair. “You almost killed her,” he said to Athena.

“I did kill her,” Athena corrected. “And now she’s herself again. Isn’t that right?”

Cassandra tugged free of Aidan and got to her feet, trying not to wobble. Athena nodded, and Cassandra knew what she must see. The difference was slight, but it was there. The way she held her shoulders. A scant bit of stiffness in her spine. The awkward ease of youth had fallen away. Memories of another person, another life, had settled onto her like layers of snow.

“No, that’s not right,” Cassandra said. “But I do remember. Is that what you wanted? Athena?”

Athena exhaled. “You know me. Good. It’s what we needed.”

“It wasn’t what I needed.” Cassandra cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I saw you, once, on the battlefield below the wall. You threw a spear through four men. One was a boy I’d made jewelry for when we were children. He wasn’t much more than a child when you cut him down. And you laughed.”

Athena frowned. “I suppose it isn’t fair to say that’s not me anymore. Not when you’ve just remembered.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Cassandra.” Aidan reached for her.

“Don’t, Apollo.” Cassandra shrugged him off, which wasn’t hard. When she used his real name he recoiled like he’d been burned. She walked up the deadfall and back to the road.

* * *

“Are we just going to let her go?” Hermes asked.

“She needs time.” We’ve done enough to her for now. Give her a moment to put two lives together. “When she’s ready, she’ll come looking for us, and we’ll see what she can do. Until then, just keep an eye out. Make sure she’s safe.”

Apollo turned. “Stay away from her. Nothing’s changed. If you try to use her, I’ll find something that really will crack your head open.”

Athena clenched her jaw. “Nothing’s changed? Everything’s changed. She won’t want you within a mile.”

“I was making it up to her. I wanted to make it right.”

Athena shook her head. “How could you have righted a wrong she didn’t know you committed? When could she have told you it was enough? That you’d paid for it, and been forgiven?” Gods. Forever making their own rules.

“This wasn’t the way.”

“We needed Cassandra of Troy. No one had any other suggestions.”

Apollo glared at her. “Not even a shred of guilt. Minutes after you strangled an innocent girl. Everything is a means to an end with you.”

“It was justice. She had the right to know who she was. And what you did to her.”

“You hide behind justice. Athena knows best.” He looked at them with disgust. “I’m glad you’re dying. I wish that I was. It’s what we all deserve.”

* * *

Having one’s head sewn back together hurt. A lot. Particularly when there was no anesthetic involved. Athena sat on the counter of the sink at the Motel 6 while Odysseus dragged black surgical thread back and forth through her scalp with a sterilized needle. The awkward tugging and stinging did nothing to improve her mood. She still seethed over Apollo, walking away like a kicked puppy, trying to make her feel guilty for doing what had to be done.

But was there another way? Maybe I was in too big a hurry.

She thought of Cassandra’s eyes, the way their innocence had turned to bitterness. It was hard, and cold, and more than a little cruel.

“He’s just like the girl,” Hermes said from the bed on the other side of the room, where he lay lazily flipping through channels. “Apollo just needs time. Time to see the bigger picture.”

We don’t have the time that everyone seems to think we have.

She inhaled and felt the tickle of feathers.

I don’t have the time.

“And shouldn’t we be investigating why he’s not dying?”

“Apollo can get bent,” Athena snapped, and winced when Odysseus poked harder with the needle than he had to. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Odysseus groaned. “Are you two really so thick that you don’t understand why he’s doing this? Your war doesn’t matter to him. The only thing that matters is Cassandra.”

The needle slid through her skin again, tugged as he made a knot. It would heal quickly; the makeshift stitches could come out in a day. Odysseus clipped the thread off and started to clean up. Red dots and wads of gauze and tissue moistened pink with blood and water decorated the sink. Athena turned and looked in the mirror. He’d done a good job. The stitches weren’t even visible through her hair. She sighed.

“Apollo will fall in line once he realizes that Hera is coming for her. And for him. He’s smart. And we’ve always been close, by godly standards. And,” she said, arching her eyebrow at Odysseus, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in his ‘love.’ The last time he loved her, he drove her completely bughouse. Remember that.”

“I remember.” He tossed reddened tissues into the trash. “But haven’t you ever heard of atonement?”

“Great movie,” Hermes supplied. “Better book.”

Odysseus ignored him. “The way you grabbed her throat today—I’ve never seen anything like that from you. Maybe you should start thinking a little less about the big picture.”

He refused to look at her while he finished cleaning, throwing away pieces of thread and wiping down the counter. The rejection stung like a tightly squeezing ball in her chest.

“How can you say that?” More words rose and died in her throat. The way he ignored her, the aversion in his eyes; it pierced like needles. She expected loyalty from him, if from no one else.

I need it. That’s more the truth. I can’t let him turn his back on me. It would hurt more than these stupid feathers.

Athena stalked across the room and slammed out the door. The air had turned colder since they’d come back and the mist had turned to snow; small, dense flakes hit her cheeks like tiny razors. Her feet struck the pavement as she paced, almost hard enough to crack it. She didn’t know how long she was out there, turning ice into steam, before she heard the door open and Odysseus walked through it.

“Do you think any of this is easy? Dying? This stupid Twilight? You, Hermes, Cassandra—Hera and Poseidon will send all our worlds sliding off the edge and I’m the one holding on to the rope, so don’t tell me not to think about the bigger picture! Thinking of the bigger picture is the only thing I can do these days.”

“Don’t give me that,” Odysseus said. “This is exactly your element.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what you did back in the woods. It was cruel, and that’s just the way you wanted it. You got to be a god again. You’re so bloody scared of being the tiniest bit human—”

“Bullshit. Hard choices have to be made. How can you accuse me of wanting to do that? Do you think I liked it?”

Odysseus took a breath. How must she look, her head full of sutures, still wearing the t-shirt soaked in blood? If she wanted to, she could tear his limbs off, one by one. He should be afraid of her. He always should have been. But he never was.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” His brows knit and his palms lay flat, trying to explain. “I know it needed to be done, believe me. But you used to be patient. Compassionate.”

Athena exhaled. “Back then I had the luxury.” She pressed her hands to the side of her head and wanted to squeeze, to reopen the stitches and scream. “But I know, I know. I came here to save her, to protect her, and instead I killed her in the first five minutes.” Her arms fell to her sides. His words hung around her neck like lead. “I had to, you know. ‘Make her remember, and she’ll be more.’ That’s what Demeter said. Unless I misinterpreted the riddle.” And maybe she had. The immediate battle was over, the adrenaline rush subsided, and she was so incredibly tired.

“At night I imagine feathers cutting through my insides,” she said softly. “I see them, making their way to the surface, tearing me up before they tear me open. When they come through it’s slow. They twist up and rise, like plants from soil.” She laughed a humorless laugh. “I’m going to die, Odysseus. And when I do I’m going to look like a monster. I suppose you think that’s fitting.”

He stepped closer and took her by the elbows. Heat flowed into her from him in a powerful, strange wave. This is what it feels like to want someone.

“Look at me,” he said, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “You’re not going to die. If there’s a way to survive, you’ll find it. You always do.”

“I thought the same thing about you not a day ago. But it might not be true anymore. So many things are different now.” Like us, standing here. With your hands on me. Like the feelings for you that I shouldn’t feel.

“You’re right. Things are different.”

“We’re still goddess and hero.”

“What if we’re not? Just that.” He smiled at her, his eyes soft.

“That’s what we are, always.” Her heart sped with curious hope. The urge to fall was utterly new and made her dizzy. He could catch her and hold her up. She knew he could.

If this is how Aphrodite feels every day, it’s no wonder she’s such an idiot.

“Always,” he said, and let go of her arms.

* * *

Cassandra’s head itched from the odd sensation of having one too many brains inside it, brushing against each other. Everything she remembered ordered and reordered, stacked and shuffled. It felt like her mind had grown longer and larger, that it stretched out behind her several thousand years.

The cloud of her breath puffed like steam from a train. The cold mist that had been falling for the last hour was slowly turning to sleet. It left icy trails in her hair. The only parts of her that felt warm were her neck and throat, which throbbed and ached underneath Athena’s handprint bruises. She swallowed.

It hurts worse than strep. Worse than when I had it for a week in third grade.

Third grade. In third grade, she’d already been thousands of years old. She just hadn’t remembered.

“Athena,” she croaked. Blaming her was easy. It was her handprints wrapped around her neck. She was the one who had asked her if she wanted to know, without giving warning about what that might mean. And she was the one who’d lured her brother Hector to his death.

Hector.

Hector.

Henry.

The knowledge forced its way through her ears, and she stopped short; the sounds of her shoes slapping the slushy sidewalk cut off sharply. Hector, Troy’s hero, was her brother, Henry. She could see him on the city wall, smiling as he pointed down into the market. She could see him throwing Lux’s Frisbee.

And Andie too. With long hair, twisted through with hand-dyed ribbon. She’d taught Cassandra to use a bow. Her name had been—

“Andromache.” Hector’s wife. Henry’s wife. Gross.

“Cassandra.” Aidan. Apollo. She remembered him too.

“Are you—?” he asked.

“Don’t ask if I’m all right. And don’t tell me you’re sorry.” Even if you are.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t do that. It’s stupid. I just—never knew what to do. How do you make up for driving someone out of their mind?”

“Do I look the same as I did before? Didn’t it ever bother you?”

“You look more like her now,” he said. “And it did bother me. It bothered me every day.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Did fool me.”

The wet sweatshirt on his shoulders looked like it weighed a million pounds. Of course it wouldn’t, to a god. It wouldn’t even be uncomfortable. They didn’t feel the cold, or the heat. They didn’t feel. Cassandra looked up into the gray sky, let the sleet hit her cheeks and melt onto her lips. It didn’t taste of tears, just of cold, and she swallowed it down. The bruises made her wince but she didn’t care. The cold water felt good. It eased the nausea of having an extra lifetime crowd in behind her eyes.

“I’ve always loved you. I looked for you for so long. After what I did. After you died.”

“Was killed,” she corrected. “I didn’t just die. I was killed. They took me hostage and put an axe in me when I hit the Greek shore. Like a sacrifice.” The memory made her shiver. It was real, but far away, and so strange to remember her own death. “You cursed me. It was your fault Troy fell. More than the Greeks’. Even more than your stupid sister’s. You gave me prophecy and then made people think I was crazy.” She glared at him. He didn’t even look the same. Images of Apollo and Aidan danced over each other. The boy she loved and the god she hated. “And now you lied. You lied when you said you had no more secrets. You knew who I was the whole time! And never said anything. It’s sick.” Her throat tore every time she raised her voice, but she didn’t care. Her head felt like it might explode.

He grabbed her shoulders. “Please. What was I supposed to say?”

“It might’ve been hard in the beginning, but not now. After I knew what you were, then you could’ve told me the truth.” She hated him. Hated him for being what he was, for standing in front of her wearing the face she loved.

But I do love him. I love him even when I hate him. Even back then when he could do that to me. That’s the worst part. Worse than dying. Worse even than our walls crumbling.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

“You don’t know anything. And I don’t want to be with you anymore.” She thought she wanted to see his face when she said it, that she wanted to see pain, but it only made her own hurt worse.

He turned away and put his hand on his head. For a second she thought he’d turn and leave.

“I can’t—leave you alone yet. I’m sorry. But Athena and Hermes are still here.”

That’s right. I need you. I need a god, to keep other gods from ruining our lives again. But even then a sliver inside her was glad. He’d been so much a part of her. For so many thousand years. Cutting him out so fast felt like it would tear half her chest away.

“We aren’t going to run from them anymore, are we?” she asked.

“I don’t think we’d make it if we tried.”

“So what do we do then? How do we keep my family safe? How do we keep them away from Andie and Henry?”

Aidan glanced up and she nodded. Yes. I know them too.

“Let me talk to Athena,” he said. “Find out exactly what she’s after. They want to make an ally of you. But I don’t know why, or against what.”

“We won’t have much time to choose sides,” she said, and suddenly knew it was true.

Aidan reached out hesitantly and touched her cheek. His hand was so warm and her heart thumped like it always had. She let it linger there for a moment, then brushed it away.

“Don’t. It’s not like that anymore.”

“I love you,” he said. “I made a mistake, a long time ago. It was a god’s mistake, so it was big. But I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for thousands of years.”

He was sorry. But what did he know about time or consequences? How long could you hold a grudge when someone broke your life like an unwanted toy? Was a thousand years enough? Two?

“So you’ll talk to them?” she asked. “And come back?”

“As soon as I can.”

She reached out and pulled his wet hood over his head.

“You’re still you,” he said softly. “And I’m still me.”

“I know,” she said. We are, and we aren’t. Her fingers trailed down the front of his sweatshirt. “Be careful.”

He nodded. “I’m going to swing by my house first and tear up that note I left. I’ll call you soon.”

YOU CAN RUN

Leaves had already found their way back into the yard, blown in from the neighbors’ or fallen down from the last clinging bunches high up in the maple branches. It was only a scattering. Their dad wouldn’t make them rake again, but he’d be in the yard on his own next weekend, clearing out the last of them.

As Cassandra walked up the driveway, she tried to be unsurprised that the house was still her house. That she still remembered growing up in it, sliding down the banister and almost breaking her leg, and decorating sugar cookie reindeer with her mom, candy sprinkles spread out across the tabletop. It still felt like it was hers.

It’s mine, like Troy is mine. And I’m me, and I’m not me.

She walked through the door and the heat inside immediately made her nose run. By the time she got a tissue from the bathroom across from the den, her fingers tingled and the sting of thaw bit the tops of her ears. Across the hall, machine-gun fire issued from the TV. The backs of Andie and Henry’s heads sat above the brown suede of the couch while they watched a movie.

I saw you die. I was there on the wall when you fought Achilles.

The memory was completely clear. He’d fought so well, so bold and fast, that for an instant she’d thought her vision could be wrong and Hector would win. She’d hoped so, right until the moment he stumbled. Right until the moment Achilles’ spear thrust into his chest. Andromache had screamed then, and Cassandra had wanted to cover her eyes. No one should have to remember the sight of their husband trying frantically to get a spear out of his chest while someone else drove it farther in.

She shivered hard, and wet, brittle clothes rattled on her body. Andie turned on the couch and her mouth dropped open.

“Kill the TV.”

“What? What for?”

“Just do it.” Andie spun off the couch. “My god, Cassandra, what happened? Henry, call the police and your parents.” She pulled an afghan off of the hope chest and pulled Cassandra’s jacket off of her shoulders before wrapping her in it.

“Cassandra? Jesus, what happened?” Henry lifted her chin. The bruises, black as an inner tube, circled all around her throat. The fact that they were finger marks was unmistakable.

“Don’t call the police,” Cassandra whispered. “And don’t call Mom and Dad.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t call’? Look at you! What the hell happened?”

“I got in a fight.”

“That’s not a fight, Cassandra; that’s someone trying to kill you. You have to report it. Do you know who it was?”

Someone did kill me. And someone brought me back.

“Where’s Aidan?” Andie asked. Concern and fear etched her features in equal parts.

Can they know, somehow? Can they sense it?

But no. They were just afraid and thinking the worst.

Cassandra closed her eyes.

“Could you please just make me some tea? With honey?”

“You should take some Tylenol or something too,” said Henry, and went to get it from the bathroom.

Cassandra followed Andie to the kitchen and pulled out a chair to sit. She listened to drawers and cabinets open and shut. The kitchen smelled like melted cheese and butter from the casserole they’d had for lunch.

“Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Grocery store and errands in town,” Henry replied. He ducked under Andie’s arm on his way to the sink to fill the teapot and Andie turned the wrong way and got honey on his shirt. It was ridiculous just how effectively they could get in each other’s way, how one innocent arm movement from Andie could manage to entangle her in Henry practically up to the shoulder.

It’s how they always were. The prince and the Amazon fell in love while wrestling and never really stopped.

At least until the gods had run their lives into the dirt and killed them. And now here they were: Henry her brother again, and Andie her friend. It felt unfair. They’d paid for it once already. It should have been enough for a hundred happy lives.

But that’s not how it works. Fate has its way. Fair or unfair doesn’t matter. Hector told me that once.

“Here. It’s pomegranate antioxidant something or other.” Andie set down a steaming mug of purplish tea. It smelled of bitter citrus and dark bits of leaves swirled near the bottom. The heat of the ceramic mug sank into Cassandra’s sluggish fingers.

Henry stared as she sipped. Andie briefly looked into the teapot like she might pour herself a cup, but then set it back on the stove to cool. Neither one of them seemed to know what to do. They waited quietly, watching but not really watching, in that way people have when they know you have something unpleasant to tell them.

I don’t have to tell them at all. Whatever happens next, I could leave them here. Leave them out of it.

Only she didn’t think she could. There were things at work, threads being pulled that wound around and around them. It was almost visible, thin as gossamer, draped over their heads when the light hit just right.

“What would you say if I told you we aren’t who we think we are?”

“What?” Henry asked. “Cassie, what happened to your neck? Who did that?”

Cassandra swallowed her tea and felt honey coat the bruises.

“Athena did that,” she said. “A goddess did that.”

“Like Aidan.” Andie pulled out the chair beside her and sat. “A god, like Aidan. Which one?”

“His sister.” Cassandra nodded. “You’d know that, though, if you were really you.” She winced. It was almost exactly what Athena had said.

“His sister? The one from the jungle?”

“No. It was Athena. And Hermes was there too.”

Andie looked at Henry; Cassandra waited until he’d sat down in the chair opposite and had Lux’s head on his knee.

“I’m not just Cassandra Weaver. You’re not just Andie Legendre. That’s why I’ve been seeing the things I have. They’ve been looking for us. Me mostly, but she’ll use you too.”

Andie tried not to look skeptical and failed. But Cassandra was patient.

“Listen. Your name used to be Andromache. His used to be Hector. Past lives, get it?” She stopped abruptly when her voice got too loud. Talking loud still felt like coughing up a crumpled ball of aluminum foil. They didn’t believe her, and why should they? The only way to make it real would be to strangle them and bring them back from the dead. And she wasn’t about to try that.

But Athena will. I have to get them away from here. Away from her.

“Andromache,” said Andie softly, trying it out in her mouth. “And Hector. From Troy.” She paused. “Wait. I totally saw that movie. And this guy is no Eric Bana.” She shoved Henry in the shoulder.

“This isn’t a joke. Look at my neck. They did this to wake me up. So I’d remember being the other Cassandra. So they could use me for something. They’ll do the same thing to you.”

They stared at the blackening fingerprints around her windpipe. “You remember being … the other Cassandra?” Henry asked.

She nodded. “And I remember you. When you were Hector. It’s true. I’m not crazy.”

“What—what are they going to use you for?” Andie asked.

“I don’t know. Aidan’s trying to find out.” She didn’t tell them what he’d done to her back in Troy. There was so much to tell.

And it doesn’t matter. Not in the middle of everything else. Not even when it feels like my heart’s stopped beating.

She took another sip of tea. It had cooled, or maybe her throat had gotten warmer. The purplish liquid swirled in the bottom of the mug; leaves and bits of flower floated and swayed in suspended patterns, like drifting seaweed. Cassandra watched as the pattern became less random, as the leaves strung together into shapes. An open, screaming mouth and long, drenched hair. She blinked and tried to unsee it, but couldn’t. It was like seeing the hidden shape in a Magic Eye puzzle, or catching the shape of Elvis in a grilled cheese sandwich. Once you saw it, it was all you could see.

“Is it cold?” Andie asked. “Do you want me to nuke it? Or make you more?”

Cassandra glanced up. When she looked into the mug again, the face was gone, blown apart.

“No, I—”

Water coated her eyes. Bubbles churned against her cheeks and her own hair found its way into her mouth and choked her. Someone was holding her under. Her lungs felt ready to bleed.

It’s not me. It’s someone else.

She took a deep breath and her lungs filled with air. She was safe, in the kitchen, her back firmly planted against the wood of the chair.

It’s just a vision. No different than any other.

But this was monstrous, seen through a blurry surface, like a windshield sheeted with rain. The air smelled of moss and wet rocks, of freezing saltwater. The only light seemed to be light reflected off of water; it danced over every surface and made her dizzy. They were in some kind of cave. Or a cove, in the cliffs.

She felt Andie and Henry’s hands on her arm and shoulder. They asked questions, but she didn’t understand them. Their voices were muffled and echoed. They might have been shouting through a cement wall.

In the center of the cave a hole of dark, greenish water rippled. Then the surface exploded and a girl was tossed out with a wave, thrown onto the stones. The sound of her slapping against the rock hurt Cassandra’s bones. The arms that threw her were just visible inside the retreating water: slimy and scaled and cut through with stiff seaweed. Wet rot blackened the tips of the fingers.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 516