Gently rolling her over, Charlotte cradled Madeleine's head but her eyes were closed and her face pale and slack. The corpses stood on their coffins to keep watch over the battlefield, sunken chests pressed to the clay, their uniforms pale and tattered shrouds. I do not sleep in a coffin, nor turn to dust in sunlight. I told you, killing is no fun.
She was only glad he was safe, yet her relief seemed distant. She saw a kettle and teapot on the grate. After all she had endured, it seemed the last straw, but years of practise enabled her to hide her discomfort. His fingers rested on the cold stone rim; he willed strength, healing and energy into the lifeless head.
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