@lapeirla
“Come out with me.”
He stepped into the room and leaned his frame over the willowy body of his wife, his cheek pressed against hers as he plucked paper and pen from her fingers. He knew she must have heard him (tripping on overgrown vines and coils of rubber tubing as he did) but she had not once looked up to greet him. Imagine, after years and years of struggle, he’s finally replaced by a couple of vials of poison and beakers.
“Come out with me,” he repeats as he pushes away her hair to better rest his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve finished my work for the day. I’m tired of looking at numbers and,” he looks at the scribbles on her paper and the measurements glance back, “-- I’m sure you are too.”
It was destiny for the woman who would dare to steal from her own aunt to follow in that very aunt’s path. He wouldn’t be surprised if sea witches just so happen to run in her family. “You can plan to poison your enemies after dinner.”











