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a fruit elf on the Howling Mountain
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Her giggles subside. She lowers her hands and then wipes tears from her face with the end of a sleeve.

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He takes a deep breath. The uncertainty fades.

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"Would you take off your clothes, please?" says Tarro.

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She hugs herself and shakes her head.

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"All right."

He steps up to her and begins taking off her dress.

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She doesn't fight, but doesn't help either. She is tense, shivery, curled inward like a dying leaf.

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Maran grabs her face and drags her head up, staring into her eyes.

"Look at me."

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She closes her eyes.

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He snarls under his breath and does it the messy way, bursting her eyes with magic one after the other. Blood leaks out from under the closed lids.

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She flinches at the pain, making a small whimpering noise in the back of her throat, but doesn't try to get away.

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He drags her over to the padded box with its chains and shoves her down onto it, holding her facedown with her legs apart.

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Tarro chains her there.

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He glances over at Serik. "Staying to watch?" he inquires.

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"Planning to. And Luar says she doesn't mind if I join in, if that's all right with you."

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He hesitates.

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"And it won't—make things worse—?"

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"I trust Luar's ability to agree to things. If she says it's all right, I'll go by that."

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Tarro thinks this over, looking down at the trembling girl with tears of blood running down her pale cheeks.

"...All right."

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"Welcome to the party, then," says Maran. He starts taking off his clothes.

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Tarro goes to the cabinets, looking to Maran for a nod before he settles on one, then again when he picks out a knife.

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It's kind of amazing watching those two at work.

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He takes the knife Tarro hands him and slashes down Luar's back, cutting deep enough that everyone in the room can hear the sound of metal scraping over bone. There is a terrible intensity in his eyes.

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She shudders. A quiet sob escapes her, and then another. Blood pours from the cut, spilling down her side and over the padded box.

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He does it again, and again, cutting her open so savagely that in places her flesh hangs in strips from her knife-scored bones.

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