“Before you kill us,” the philosopher said, standing before fangs dripping with searing venom and six pairs of blazing eyes, “let us ask you a question.”
The philosopher felt her heart beating within her chest. She winced at the feeling. It was not painful. Just sad. Her heart knew this was the moment of her death and it was still aching to keep her from it.
All six of the creature’s eyes were on her, but she was most directly in front of one pair in one giant dog-like head. She knew this one’s name. This one was Lucte. The name meant “grief.”
The final monster I fight. It won’t be long now.
Curses and cures. Curses and cures.
I’ve tried everything. Like most people in my position.
Everything reasonable that is. I didn’t think I’d run out of options this soon. I only started seeing the signs a couple of weeks ago. Of course I’ve known it was coming, but I also hoped…I might be one of the exceptions.
The king is the hound and the hound is the king.
The feasters come and eat, but they don’t suspect a thing.
It’s a feast like none they’ve seen, a spectacular repast.
They never e’er suspect that the meal will be their last.
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