The Comfort Of The Knife Epilogue

“Co on little brute, you can’t sleep forever.”

The voice delivers the words perfectly, likely to torture , but I can’t find it in myself to resist them. Opening my eyes, I discover myself and Nadia are curled up on our sides, arms crossing as we hug a girl? Maybe yes, a girl in so gender way, but not a mortal woman. Her skin is a glossy black—in fact it’s rather slick to the touch—patterned through with speckles of red reminiscent of the “eyes” in Sphinx’s fur and feather patterns. In thinking of wings, I note that what I’m laying on is soft, so soft. I look down, my eyes focusing, and see that we rest on wings. Great wings stretching from her back, another set from her waist, and even her hair forms together to make yet another pair; six in total, shimring in the rich golds and crimsons of fire. The rest of her hair, cut in a swoopy semi-irregular manner, hides her face.

“Up up, little brute, consciousness is still yet in hand.”

So I push to my knees, and look up toward consciousness, toward the voice, and I can’t believe it. Looming above , is Secretary as I left them, a gaping gory hole in their chest. Though they smile at with a curdled love, as they say, “There we go, little brute, now wake them up. We have a lot of work to see to.”