Pixie dust. A residual sign that those ungodly little
creatures had been through this way. Cute? Sure, if flesh eating, pocket-sized
demons with the teeth of a piranha were cute. Their song and dance often lured
drunkards away from the path and safety, only to meet their doom by a plethora
of doll hands and tiny mouths already rank with the scent of rotting flesh. It
was my job to deal with disappearances, and to dispose of whatever rogue Others
had caused the trouble to begin with. Most days, I hated this thankless job.
Today, it was personal. Game on.
I could actually see this going somewhere... Hmm...
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