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... The shower room's steamy silence was hanging by Demond's sanity, the warm water tapping a symphony with their breaths, rising and falling like a crescendo of desire. The witch, still with her back against the dragon, now pulsed a heartbeat to match the drums of this musical tension. Her thoughts, a swirling cauldron of lust and spite, boiled under the promise for the dragon's 'naked night', and the distant humming of Adrei's amusement.

The former old man sighed, she dipped her palm into ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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