name!”
“Alright, curse you, alright,” the old guard at last relents. “If it’ll keep you from pissing yourself, I’ll find out what she’s called, aye?” He turns back to the woman, who has since struggled to her feet just in case she needs to make a run for it — though where she would go she hasn’t the faintest idea. “What’s your name girl? Nils here needs to hear it, else he won’t be able to sleep tonight. Come on, then, what’s your name?”
She wishes she had one to give. “I — I’m,” she stammers, unsure of what to say. Overhead,
Just Another Struggling Writer 
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