The Literary Phoenix

Funny, the damage a silly little book can do. Especially in the hands of a silly little girl.

Wulf wrapped his fingers around the rock. It was jagged, and dirty. He felt its rough edges cutting against his palm, but he didn’t care. He cared only about the weight of it, and the truth of his aim. He lifted his weapon slightly off the ground so that the blades of grass barely brushed …

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