through her. She gasped, arching, and Dorian
took advantage of her sudden stillness to
plunge in the knife, fast and deft.
Three movements, his healing magic still
working through her, soothing her as best he
could, and the bloodied shard was in his
fingers. Pulsing its hollow, sickening power
through him.
The final Wyrdkey.
He dropped her arm, sliding the Wyrdkey
into his pocket, and turned for the portal.
But a hand wrapped around his, feeble and
shaking.
He whirled, a hand going to Damaris, and
found her staring up at him. Tears slid down
her face.
“Kill me,” she breathed. Dorian blinked.
“You—you pushed it back.” Not the key, but
the demon inside her, he realized. Somehow,
with that healing magic— “Kill me,” she said,
lily
(lily)
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