Just Another Struggling Writer

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rescued once again.

“Which makes you lucky twice,” the old guard says, a gruff smile twitching underneath his drooping mustache. “What’s your name, girl?”

Another question without an answer. The woman does her best to avoid it. She pushes herself cautiously into an upright position, a soft groan escaping her lips as she does so. She expected that her entire body would feel terribly sore after such an arduous chase, but to her surprise there is nothing more than a minor ache. It is almost… pleasant.

“Where am I?” She asks again, hoping her question would override their own.

The

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