Mag

It looms in the dark. It stares at him, taunting him. He stares back, feeling the conflicting emotions inside that come nightly. The anticipation. The revulsion. The acceptance. The disgust. Round and round they go. The urges: to become part of it অথবা to turn his back on it.


The black bag sits on the little counter পরবর্তি to it, illuminated দ্বারা the portable television’s glow. The bag is filled with the tools he needs to complete his task each night. Tools that, he, himself hates to clean. He can almost hear them calling his name. They whisper to him…encourage him to go ahead with what he needs...

“Go get cut!”

The Graverobber’s last words to her before she took off with a little glass vial of রাস্তা Zydrate bounced through Amber’s mind. Well, that’s exactly what she intended to do before she went on stage.

Amber dashed to a nearby tent, with her valets and two genterns in tow. Her father’s surgeon had done a shitty job in repairing Amber’s face. The damage on her right cheek was beginning to প্রদর্শনী through again. So she decided for a quick refacial-job. A new face and fast. She swung her lean frame into the medical chair. Running out of time and patience, Amber hastily explained...