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The darkangel6/20/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() "Why could the vampyre not have taken you instead of Eoduin?" And then the sharp crack of the woman's hand against Aeriel's cheek, so sudden the tears sprang to her eyes. ![]() "Why could you not have protected my daughter? You should have given your life for your mistress." The woman's breast heaved in a sob. Her face above Aeriel looked like Eoduin's, only older. And then, she remembered Eoduin's mother, the syndic's wife, shoving suddenly into the room, the women falling back deferentially, uncertainly before their mistress, who came to stand over Aeriel, white-faced and screaming: "So she is awake, now, is she - why wasn't I told? My daughter is dead because of you, worthless chattel!" The woman's hair was disheveled, her thin cheeks tear-streaked, her garments rent with mourning. Bomba had laid a cool, damp gauzecloth on her forehead. She remembered waking hours, many hours after the sun had set, and seeing old Bomba along with some others of the servant women murmuring over her or moving quietly about the darkened chamber. She had not known she could feel such bitterness. She was kneeling beside the wide, low windows of the deserted alcove just off the empty dyeing chamber. The vehemence of her own words surprised her. "Who will kill the vampyre?" said Aeriel softly, softly. ![]()
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