“This is called a braquemard,” he said, “and there is a curious story about its origins”. She pressed herself towards him.“Le masque livide�...� she sighed and Grigori looked deep into her eyes, gently stroking the hair from her cheek while stabbing the blade into her groin and slicing upwards, his muscles straining with the effort, until she was laid open from crotch to chest. Her intestines slid, wetly steaming, down their legs to the floor and she let out a long, liquid groan. Still watching her. Still, I reveled in them, for I wished to live a life of adventure myself, some day, instead of being just a farmer, as my father was. My father, Realgus, had been a wanderer in his youth, and I suspected that he might have been an adventurer, but he would never talk about it, or the limp he had every once in a while when the nights were especially cold and the air was very dry in the dead of winter. My mother told me once that his wound had been gotten defending her, but more than that she. More

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