Corpse / Small Worlds Chapter Twenty Eight

Small Worlds
Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Prophetess wore a different shape this time, but she appeared to be making little effort to disguise her own mannerisms and arrogant bearing. The cold, ruthless eyes seemed incredibly out of place on the face of a girl, no older than her mid-teens, with shoulder-length hair died a rather striking shade of violet.

Another victim of the Prophetess's schemes. Though what she'd do with the abilities of some random teenager was beyond the Gunslinger.


Vaniah's eyes strayed to the doll held loosely in the Prophetess's left hand. It bore some vague resemblance to himself. Noticing where he was looking, the Prophetess held up the doll, smiling slightly.

"They teach them the dark arts younger and younger these days," she said, her voice sounding strange coming from another's mouth. "Now, Vaniah. Be reasonable. Give me the blaggemol and give yourself up."

Vaniah simply glared.

"Of course. You see, Gunslinger, I've just recently realized something about you. You're stubborn to the point of stupidity, and will die rather than give up that which you value.

So tell me, Gunslinger," said the Prophetess as her right hand extracted another doll from a pouch at her side, "how much do you value these companions of yours?"