I began to shake. I went into the north-wing bathroom, took off my wet clothes, and threw them into the tub—splat. Then, still shaking, I turned and stared at myself in the mirror over the washbasin. I looked like someone who has been on the losing side in a barroom brawl. One bicep bore a long, clotting gash. A blackish-purple bruise was unfurling what looked like shadowy wings on my left collarbone. There was a bloody furrow on my neck and behind my ear, where the lovely Rogette had caught me with the stone in her ring.
Source: Bag of Bones ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)