And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. I HAD to. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. “That is your sister’s name.
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