She landed in front of him, her talons scratching the walls as she neared him, the keys dancing in front of her feathered chest. She reached for one and made the unlocking motion. Skiron’s face twisted in agony, and his hair greyed as she drained him.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I grin slightly, the lie so transparent. The revolver reappears in front of me, and Trixie taps it pityingly against my temple as she speaks.
“You are a god,” tap, “and I have got one over on you,” tap, “how does that make you feel?”
Most everyone joined in the cheers, but gradually, they all started asking the same questions I had. Who had invited all of us, and why did we all come if we had no clue who our host was? The only person who could answer any of these questions was the odd man out.
Someone’s playing me, and whoever it is is managing to stay one step ahead of me all of the time. It’s not a position I’m used to; I’m supposed to be the God of Forethought!
