“What a morbid joke, Damien.”
“That was not a jest,” Damien whispered, his voice rough and raw. He heard Chloe laugh softly in amusement.
“The river of death diverges into heaven and hell. The Lord would not send us both to the same destination.”
With a loud crack, Damien’s reflection in the window shattered. Raindrops began to seep through the broken pane, dampening his face. Once this season of fickle weather concluded, his feverish sentiments would surely subside. Yes, surely they would.
* * *
Amid the relentless downpour, a stout, red-haired man was pleading with the royal guard. “His Majesty himself requested that this parcel be delivered to the palace!” he insisted.
“I suggest you leave immediately if you do not wish to be forcibly removed,” the guard warned.
