Monandæg Snippets

—–“The still water’s reflection wouldn’t lie. Your actions will be a scar to remember. A scar that will taint your way by the people just glancing towards you and the ones that have known you throughout your entire life!” Jaspen seethed as he said the words.
—–“Who are you to say what it is people believe, think, or judge about another,” Fellion responded in a statement that emboldened his perspective of the traitor standing before him.
—–“Maybe then, I should give you another chance to change this perception you have about me?” A coy smile crossed Jaspen’s thin white lips stating his defiance more than angry words could ever accomplish.
—–“You are of an ill-begotten faith and traitorous views if you think disposing of me will change your fate in this world. You are bound to be tossed away like the filth your kind deserves regardless of any actions I take,” said Fellion.
—–“Then explain to me just what my ‘kind’ is my supposed ‘ally’?” Jaspen mocked.
—–“Allies… ha! We were only serving the same cause, at least that is what I thought, until you! YOU!” Fellion pointed a finger forcefully towards Jaspen as he spat the last of his words, “Turned your back on everything pure you’ve ever known. Your kind is nothing less, and no more, then self-serving cretins!”
—–“You truly believe we are of false reason, that we are faithless and deceitful? Your wisdom became shrouded from a veil of self-delusion, my friend. This faith of yours is as diluted as the liquor at Spoken’s Inn.” Jaspen spoke the last with contempt and an issuance of hatred towards the man; doing everything with his words besides physically spitting in the man’s face.
—–Cerene sat silently watching the two men spout words like swords back and forth. Words amazed her, purely due to the fact she could not speak herself. Her fascination for words drove her to books, hundreds upon hundreds of books she had the privilege of having close at hand. It was thanks to the city monastery in Egostrian that had taken Cerene in as to why she had the luxury of literature so readily available to her. At only four and a three-quarter foot tall and just shy of ninety pounds sopping wet, Cerene was merely a shadow buried deep within the darkness, easy to miss, which was perfect for her love of observing others. The fact she was what some labeled as, ‘mute,’ left her used to being a ghost and ignored by most everyone around her.



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