She knelt in front of me and hugged my legs as I gently stroked her hair. I held her face in my hands and lifted her chin so she looked up at me. ‘Y...u are mine to command.’ I said. ‘Say it.’ ‘I am yours to command, Sir.’ I smiled. ‘Yes, you are. You are mine.’ ‘Yours, and yours alone, Sir.’ I stood up and looked through her drawers for something she could wear. I found a short cotton print dress which I passed to her. Anya looked perfect in the dress. I found a pair of high heel strappy sandals. Death was her friend, her ally. She would welcome his eternal embrace. Athe thought, on wings of a wind most chill, snow flurried about her frailty. This caused her frayed cloak to billow in an ominous portent of this event yet to be seen.Without warning, destiny was suddenly standing there on the frozen path in front of her. Lifting her staff in a manner to ward the danger away, the elder prepared herself. The Dawn of the Mist's future was swift in its approach, so swift it came to her in a. More

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