A long night.
Not the best idea when walking nightmares haunt your waking moments, magnifying hundredfold and the slightest hint of slumber...
Most people were glad, in a way, to wake up.
For some, the night never ended but at least their nightmares did.
Hopefully.
Who can tell what passed through
Twito's
dreams as he lay in his bed.
He was a respectable
Milliner
and if anything could be reproached, it might have been his avant garde sense of fashion. Some people seem to think that avant garde actually means terrible.
But I ask you, is a terrible sense of fashion really worth getting shot through the heart?
The morning finds
Twito the Milliner
dead in his bed, with the most minimal of blood spilt, right where he lay down. If it were not for the arrow, the serenity on his face would almost make you think he was asleep. That and the fact that no one could actually be serenely asleep these nights...
That was the good death(?)
For, on your daily head count, you failed to account for two heads.
Twito
still has his, albeit cold and clammy.
Unfortunately, ThAdmiral seems to be missing his entirely, along with several other essential body parts and appendages. In fact, if it were not for one of his still existing appendages, which was legendary, and the fact that he was found missing his body parts in his own house,
The Local Fletcher
might not have been identified at all.
Funny isn't it? His house was his workshop. With a place like that, you'd think he'd have put up a decent fight. But then again, perhaps you don't need to be proficient with weapons to use them. He was a craftsman and a businessman after all...
What will you do about these latest discoveries?
Twito the Milliner has been shot.
ThAdmiral the Fletcher has been eaten.
