"Murderer," the voice, like a rusted pair of scissors, calls, barely a whisper.
Ben stands in the decayed and frozen castle, turning, looking for the voice.
"Murderer...."
He spins and sees the ashes in the cold hearth stir with the whisper. "You had to pay," he says clearly though he wants to yell.
"Is that what you tell yourself? Does that help you
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