I stared, trying to recall the last time I had eaten with my mouth, rather than filling the feed tank in my system with corpse-starch. But Holt, she opened her jaw and dropped the morsel in, synthetic tongue bifurcating to wrap around it. Her dark flesh eye closed in seeming bliss before she casually spat something into her hand: a neat parcel of tough flesh and bones, which she tossed over her shoulder.
'Waste pellets,' she explained, raising her goblet. 'An efficient way to extract flavour. I got the idea from owls.' From: Nightfall of Stygies, Stark Holborn















