“His own face, his weapons. He drew himself as a warrior hopped up on adrenaline, with a clarity of mind that would make him unstoppable. It was how he needed to be when he got sucked back into that hell. Another tremor wracked his body, and he gripped the pen as he tried to fight it off, tried to hold back the blades, the rage in his mind. He fought for focus and saw that he’d drawn the wrong boots. He hadn’t drawn the boots he liked to wear for battle. He had to go in right. Had to go ...into the Den with everything in order. His fingers clenched the pen and it snapped under his strength. He yanked open a drawer, then another. “I need a pen.” “Here.” Ella reached up and opened the middle drawer. Her hand was ashen and pale, and it was shaking. “Woman, don’t you dare die, or I will not be happy with you.” He found another pencil and began reworking the boots. He finished them off, and swore, realizing that he’d almost finished off the drawing of himself.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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