Chapter One
Mikalla glanced around the yard as she slid along the stone walls, still
warm from the day’s sun. It was nearly dark out. She heard a soft
low whistle and dashed for the bushed from whence it came. Her friend
kissed her passionately on the mouth as soon as she was hidden, and
Mikalla returned the kiss, dominating her lover with a hand in her curly
tresses. Clutching Erin to her she stopped and they giggled breathlessly.
Just then they heard the crunch of a horse’s hooves and froze,
hearts hammering in terror. If they were found out…! The door
just to their left opened, flooding light into the yard.
“Good evening, Steven! What brings you here?” Mikalla bit
her lip nervously, nearly drawing blood as her husband greeted the Captain
of the Guard.
“I’ve an evening off. Why shouldn’t I spend it with
my best friend?” the Captain answered. The men laughed. “Where’s
Mikalla?” he asked, dismounting and giving the reins to a stable
boy who had come around the house at the sound of the horse.
“She went to bed early. Female things, you know.” The captain
chuckled, a warm familiar sound between the friends who’d grown
up together.
“That I do. My Amy and Sophie have them regularly.” Mikalla’s
husband laughed out loud at the mild jest of Steven’s two wives,
his laughter also warm and familiar. They entered the house together
and Mikalla began to breathe again.
“He doesn’t suspect even now!” Erin whispered, only
partly in wonderment. Mikalla allowed herself a short laugh.
“More the fool he. He’s too dense to notice anything, all
wrapped up in his books and business. I needn’t have worried.”
Giggling again, arm in arm, they stole off to a tiny one room cabin
that had been abandoned in the forest, no further away than they could
walk in an hour.
Once there, as usual, they took their clothes off and hung them up so
as not to soil them, and fluffed the worn old quilts that lay over the
straw bed in one corner. Satisfied, the pair was soon deeply engaged
in conversation as they reclined together, their limbs seemingly entangling
themselves of their own accord.
Erin was yet unmarried, which was not unusual for someone of her age
– yet. In another year it would become a favorite gossip topic,
but for now, she was relatively safe. Her father was old and infirm,
having become crippled in a fall from a horse some 4 years earlier,
and once he was laid to bed she could do as she pleased. Mikalla, though
married, often complained of ‘female problems’, and snuck
out of her proper home to meet her lover. They had found the little
hut over a year previously, when there was a town picnic in the meadow
in the woods not far from it. When the town’s young women were
sent off to pick some of the early spring’s lush berries, Mikalla
and Erin had easily slipped away for time to themselves. Following a
bubbling little stream the two had happened upon the cabin, so old and
leaf covered it looked almost as if it had grown in that very spot.
It was obviously uninhabited, and had been for some time. The young
women fell in love with it – it was idyllic! – and perhaps
the same thought occurred to both of them; if it were far enough from
town, they might have set up housekeeping together. However, it was
not, so they contented themselves with making love sweetly and passionately
on its dirt floor, and thereafter frequenting it for their night escapades.
They had, of course, come back to the picnic late. Thanks to a good
deal of playacting fright and helplessness, and stories of being lost
and grateful to find the group again, aided by the dirt on their dresses,
however, they were saved from any real anger. Mikalla’s husband
had tenderly brushed the loose hair out of her eyes, telling her how
glad he was that she was back safely and how worried he had been. She
submitted to his gentle caresses and softer admonishments and pretended
to be soothed while her veins thrummed with defiant dissatisfaction.
A real man would not have been fooled, she thought, and though some
of his friends eyed her narrowly, she ignored them. Erin in the mean
time apologized prettily and contritely to her father for worrying him,
and he forgave her quickly, cautioning her not to let it happen again.
Ever since then, they had come back as often as the two felt it prudent,
though Mikalla had been getting reckless of late.
Their conversation wound down, and they began stilling each other’s
lips with their own, then kissing longer, more passionately, enjoying
the warmth of each other’s bodies. The late spring air brought
a light damp to their skin as they embraced, and as their fingers began
well known explorations, Erin remembered how they had met.
The town they lived in was rather small, really too small to be called
a town at all, but because it was less spread out than some of the other
villages nearby, it became the town. Still, though the two young women
had doubtless seen each other in passing, they could not remember to
tell it. The day was almost three years ago, when Erin was 15 and newly
a woman; still naive, but old enough for the men about the town to consider
her as an addition to their households. She had gone to the well in
the center of the tiny town square to draw water for the day’s
baking; her mother being long since gone she had shouldered the running
of a household earlier than most girls since her father’s crippling
fall. Mikalla was, that morning, dressed in boys clothes she had stolen
from the stable boys’ bunk, her long brown mane tucked into a
cap and her face dirt streaked to hide her prettiness. She was in the
pub, attempting to order a drink to fulfill a dare from one of her father’s
field hands. Unfortunately for her, of the few people in the pub that
early, one was the head stable man of her father’s house. He recognized
her, and she was thrown, spitting and yelling, into the street. The
stable man, a full six years older than her seventeen, had tried to
haul her home, but she had twisted away and kicked his shins. He let
her go with an oath, intending to tell his Master as soon as he got
home. Mikalla fumed around the square for a while, then, spotting Erin,
who had watched the proceedings dumbfounded, snatched the bucket out
of her hands to wash her face with. When she was done, all Erin could
do was stutter that she was beautiful. She was, in fact, the most beautiful
woman the girl had ever seen, even in such ill fitting clothes. At those
words, Mikalla paused to look closer at the trembling girl, her own
hair wild about her face without the cap, and growled. Erin jumped,
and Mikalla laughed.
“I like you, girl,” she had said, purposefully letting her
eyes touch the young swells of Erin’s breasts, her tiny waist
under the belt, her graceful ankles and wrists; she was not unpleased
by what she saw. Erin had whimpered, quite unsure what to do under the
still-new scrutiny and terrified, but drawn to the woman as a moth to
flame. “Meet me tomorrow morning at this well, early. Earlier
than now.” Erin had whimpered again, so fascinated she could not
find her speech. Slowly, she nodded, and began to back away. She had
just turned towards home when Mikalla startled her by grabbing her hair
in a fist for the last few words. “Don’t be late,”
she whispered, grinning evilly. As soon as she released her Erin fled,
the half-full bucked sloshing.
Mikalla laughed and hurried home to change before her father saw her,
only to find him standing on the step waiting, his belt doubled in his
fist and the stable man smirking at her from behind him. Her eyes narrowed
and she hissed, but she could not escape now, and any payback on the
young man would cost her. Her father told her to shut up, and she obeyed.
He grabbed her arm and tossed her over the yard’s fence bar, her
hips taking her weight and her feet leaving the ground so she was doubled
over the top rung. In that position, kicking and yelling, she received
the worse strapping of her young life so far, which said a lot, considering
Mikalla was always getting into trouble. When he was satisfied that
she would not traipse about in boy’s clothes trying to get drinks
for at least as long as she remembered this whipping when she sat down
– which would be at least a week and he hoped more than two –
he let her up and helped her into the house for a short rest before
she was sent out to help in the fields.
The next day, (dressed properly, in full skirts, under dress, buttoned
bodice and belt), sore and grumpy, Mikalla waited by the well until
it began to rain and decided that the stupid girl of yesterday was not
going to show up. She headed for the woods and suddenly Erin ran up
breathless. For some reason, Mikalla brightened. Still, she grabbed
the girl’s hair and growled in her ear, “You’re late!”
Erin whimpered, heart pounding, and gasped out the words,
“I’m sorry,” and then was forced to follow Mikalla
to a little used shed out on her father’s property. There Mikalla
searched until she found her favorite knife, hidden in the dirt, and
went outside, leaving Erin wet and trembling; totally fascinated but
very frightened. Mikalla came back with a switch and while peeling off
the bark ordered Erin to strip to her flesh. The girl stammered and
hesitated until the older girl cut her a look with dark eyes. Erin obeyed,
wishing heartily that she had never returned to the well. Mikalla arranged
the now naked girl face down over the pile of straw with her rump raised
high in the air. She eyed her soft, unblemished and still moist body,
then swished the switch in the air. Erin jumped and she laughed, then
something about the girl moved her to pity and a little empathy. Softened,
she knelt beside the trembling girl, laid down the switch and stroked
her back.
“Have you ever felt a switch?” she asked, gentler. Erin
shook her head, eyes wide. Mikalla stroked her until she relaxed a little.
“It’s only a little worse than a belt. Only five strokes,
I promise.” Erin whimpered a little, but remained where she was.
Seeing how frightened the girl was, she shocked herself by giving her
a choice.
“If you want to leave you can.” Now the words were said;
she could not take them back. “I promise. If you want to go home
now I won’t stop you and I won’t try to get back at you
and if I see you in the town I’ll be nice.” She meant them,
odd as they sounded in her ears. “Here, I’ll even turn around.
If you want to leave you must get dressed and go. If you are not gone
when I turn back around, you have consented to stay with me as my consort.
I will expect obedience. Disobey; you will taste punishment. Understand?”
Erin nodded, unsure. She sensed rather than realized Mikalla’s
loneliness. And when she turned her back on the prone girl Erin was
at a loss. She told herself she was a fool, an idiot and more. She reasoned
with herself and told herself to get up and dress and run out that door
as fast as she could. But somehow she couldn’t do it. She lay
quietly. She was curious – this woman had touched off something
inside herself that she couldn’t put a finger on yet. And she
was attracted to her. Punishment for disobedience was nothing new in
this corner of the universe. Whatever the reason, Erin stayed. When
Mikalla opened her eyes and turned around, she was surprised. She’d
never given her women a choice before; they’d all left her as
soon as they could anyway. All she knew was that this one was different
– perhaps she desired her more? – and when given a choice
did not abandon her. The relief was sharp, almost painful. She smiled,
unable to speak, and picked up the switch. She found that she didn’t
really want to whip the girl, but she couldn’t back down now.
She found her voice, and it was firm.
“I expect obedience at all times. I told you early, you were late.
You disobeyed me. You will receive 5 strokes.” Still, she decided
to go easy on the girl this once. Raising her arm she waited until Erin
could bear it no more, and as she exhaled lashed her full buttocks fiercely.
The girl sucked in her breath and howled. She lashed her twice more,
quickly, on the sweet spot between buttock and thigh, the weals overlapping.
Erin was sobbing, trying to hold still and biting her knuckles to keep
from covering herself. Mikalla was proud of her girl for being so brave,
and gave her two more quick cuts, much lighter than the others, on the
crest of her buttocks. Then she put down the switch and lay beside the
girl on the straw, covering her with her skirts and gentling her with
words and touch. Soon Erin’s tears were dry and they smiled at
each other, comforted.
“I may as well know your name, little one, now that you are mine.”
Erin smiled and told her, shy. Mikalla touched her cheek then and softly
kissed her lips. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
Erin laughed, stirred and confused by the kiss.
“But you yourself are so much more beautiful than I. How can you
say…” Mikalla silenced her with a finger to her lips.
“Shhh. Don’t disparage that which is mine! I don’t
appreciate someone telling me that my possessions are not good enough.
I give whippings for that too, you know.” Erin’s eyes widened
in fear.
“No, please!” Mikalla kissed her again softly.
“Then do not tell me you’re not beautiful. Don’t doubt
my word. I will never lie to you, I promise you that. Therefore I order
you never to lie to me, you understand?” Erin nodded. “I
say you are beautiful, Erin. You are mine, and I like you that way.
Understand?” Again, the girl nodded and Mikalla stroked her cheek,
finding it soft and still damp from her tears. “Good girl.”
They kissed softly, and this time Mikalla allowed herself the pleasure
of sliding her tongue between Erin’s slightly parted lips. The
girl responded, drawing away at first, but as Mikalla’s hand on
her jaw tightened and she felt the sensations rippling though her body
at this new invasion, she pressed closer, no longer minding the prickly
straw and even forgetting, for a moment at least, the welts on her bottom.
Clumsily she reached for Mikalla’s cheek and they kissed deeper,
searching.
Mikalla broke the kiss and sat upright suddenly, listening. “Damn!”
she said, and Erin was startled. Turning swiftly to her she ordered,
“Get dressed now, sit in that corner there and do not move until
they are gone.” As Erin hurried to comply, her fingers clumsy
on the buttons in her haste, Mikalla smoothed her skirts and rehid her
knife, tossed the switch into a corner like a random stick and kicked
the hay to look normal. Erin was dressed and crouched in the corner
indicated, her buttocks too sore to sit on yet. Mikalla pointed out
a tiny peephole. “When you think they are gone, count to two hundred.
Then get out and go swiftly home. I will find you when I want you again.”
Near tears Erin tried to speak, to ask what was going on, who –
but Mikalla stooped before her and cupped her face in her hands, kissing
her forehead then her lips. “It’s the shepherd’s sons,
out to make trouble. I can thwart them, but it will not be good if they
see you. They have little to do today, and there are five of them. So
do as I say.” Erin nodded, tearful, and Mikalla kissed her again
then crawled out a small door in the back Erin hadn’t noticed
before. Anxiously Erin watched through the peephole as she reappeared
in front, walking slowly as if she were completing a long trek. As soon
as they saw her the taunts began.
“Oh-ho! Look at the lassie now. Or was it a laddie?”
“I hear you got your rump warmed by old man Ben!” (He was
her father)
“Aw, we missed the show – perhaps we should examine the
evidence ourselves?”
“Both sides of the evidence, eh lads?” Their laughter was
dark. Mikalla ignored them and pushed on towards her home, but they
followed, and began to close in on her. Erin waited until they were
out of sight to begin her count. She lost her place a few times and
guessed, until finally she crawled out, prayed for herself and her lover,
then ran like mad to her father’s house, never mind her still
throbbing buttocks. Later, Mikalla told her what had happened: a little
further on she had insulted them right back before sprinting for home,
but they had colored angrily and overtaken her, throwing her to the
ground and tossing her skirts up. Her father had come in from the fields
at her screams and rescued her, his field hands hauling the imprudent
young men off to be horsewhipped. She had whimpered into her father’s
chest while he comforted her as best he could, for he really did love
her. She stayed close to home for the next few weeks, until the season
sent the shepherds far enough away to do no more mischief, and then
she sent for Erin.
The young woman had been tending her father and their home, anxiously
awaiting word, cautiously asking news from the local gossips and keeping
a sharp eye for Mikalla. When she finally did see her in town, a young
girl soon tugged on her sleeve with a note. So that night, after her
father was abed, she had slipped out to meet her lover in the same shed
as before. They shared news of their weeks apart and of their ordinary
lives, then settled against each other to explore feelings so new to
Erin, not so new to Mikalla but different somehow – more intense.
It was nearly morning before they were home again, but they began to
meet regularly, getting to know each other, falling in love with each
other.
It had been three years since then. A bit less than two years after
they had met Mikalla and the town’s primary merchant had conceived
an infatuation for each other. Druwn thrilled at her playfulness, she
admired his no nonsense manner of dealing with both his workers and
customers who gave him trouble. He was strict, but understanding, and
he always smiled at her teasing, admiring both the way she moved and
the intelligence with which she spoke. Soon he had taken her as wife.
In the beginning the women stayed up late – but only when he was
away – as Mikalla told story after story of how sweet and generous
he was to her, how exciting he was in the bedroom, or told Erin amusing
anecdotes while she helped her bring in vegetables from her garden to
the store. But he seemed bent on excessive gentleness, and soon her
ardor cooled, and she began to slip out more often, complaining and
poking fun at her husband. Erin chided her, insisting that she give
him some respect, but she refused. Their bedroom life virtually disappeared,
and she insisted on her own room to sew in, and began to sleep on the
couch in there rather than in his bed. She attended to her chores, but
made no pretense of happily fulfilling his needs. Through it all he
was kind and gentle and loving, accepted her hollow excuses for truth
and smiled softly when she whispered complaints about ‘female
things’. When she left the room the disappointment and hurt would
flicker in his eyes but he did not show it to her. His servants took
pity on their Master and worked even harder to please him; though he
never took his anger out on them he was still their Master and still
firm in command of them. Only his wife seemed beyond his control.
The night the women were off in their cabin and Steven had come to spend
the evening, Druwn was especially disappointed. He hadn’t made
love to his wife in months, even the nights she had slept in his bed,
and he had planned on gently seducing her, pleasing her and taking her
to his bed. He even had a present from the goldsmith to give her –
until she complained of female problems and retired early, that is.
Frustrated, he told his friend the situation.
“The devil, man, that’s why you’ve not been sleeping
well lately! Amy’s bad, but not that bad. And Sophie has one or
two horrid days, then she’s better,” Steven had said.
“I don’t know if I should call the physician or what –
she’s been so touchy lately…” a sudden thought struck
him. “You don’t think she’s pregnant and doesn’t
want to tell me?” Steven looked startled, his black eyebrows rising
on his weather beaten face.
“Hell, I don’t know! But wait – Greta!” Mikalla’s
head house woman came into the room.
“Yes, sirs, can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you dear, just answer me this. Is your Mistress pregnant?”
The older woman was startled.
“No, sir, she’s not. She had her menses right regular last
week.” Druwn furrowed his brow.
“Did you say she had her female things last week?” Greta
nodded, glad she could help her Master get a clue as to his wife’s
strange behavior.
“Yes, I did, sir.”
“So should she be having ‘female problems’ tonight?”
“Oh no, sir, she’s regular as the sun up. She should be
fine right now.” A girl in the kitchen stifled her giggle as she
heard the conversation.
“Ooh, Mistress is going to catch it now,” she whispered
to the other maid as they washed dishes.
At the table Steven turned to Druwn.
“You have been deceived, my friend.” Druwn shook his head,
still not believing it of the wife with whom he was still madly in love.
“Go and ask her! Ask why she lied to you! And believe me, Druwn,
any wife who lies straight out to her husband should be whipped until
she can’t sit down for a month.” Still the man shook his
head and Steven became slightly angry. “Look at the facts man,
either she’s got a damn good reason and hasn’t told you,
though it had better be a very damn good reason, or she’s straight
out lying.” His voice dropped. “And if she’s lying,
you may not have a wife much longer, my friend.” Druwn’s
head jerked up at those words. “Remember,” Steven continued
softly, “how when you took her as wife it was on the condition
that you handle her well? Mistreat her and she is taken from you, back
to her father’s house. Remember? But also remember, if she mistreats
you, she is taken away. I don’t want to have to do that to you,
my friend, but if the old men who run this town believe she is hoodwinking
you and mistreating you, they will order me to take her from you and
I must; it is my duty. I’m sorry, Druwn,” he said, empathizing
with the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Go ask her,”
he repeated. “Find out what is going on.” Finally Druwn
pushed himself out of his chair, hurt and upset. He climbed the stairs
to his wife’s little room and knocked, calling softly. When she
did not answer he thought she must be asleep so he tried to open the
door, but it was caught fast. Perplexed, he pushed harder, and then
finally, frustrated, he kicked it and the chair skittered away that
had been holding it – her couch was empty. His first thought was
panic, the second anger. She was lying after all. Not only lying, but
sneaking out and – and – he could not even begin to phrase
the language he would use if she were seeing a lover.
Steven saw his friend’s distress and soon discovered the reason.
Druwn was about to rouse the whole household and charge into the night
after her but Steven convinced him to stay, to wait. They sat in her
room and waited, playing cards to take Druwn’s mind off it. Still
he could not concentrate on anything but her betrayal and didn’t
even care when he lost all the games, though he was an avid card player.
When he looked around he did not see the trunks with sewing or the flowers
decorating it – all he saw was his beautiful minx, dancing in
her wedding dress, impishly asking what was going to happen that night,
offering him cake and kissing his cheek every time she sat in his lap
to bother him when he was poring over the business records… Oh,
how he longed for those interruptions now, when he would shoo her away
with promises of dinner and lovemaking later! He wondered just how much
of it was his fault. Could he have been more attentive? In the wee hours
of the morning, just when he feared she wouldn’t come, they heard
a rustle and low whispers. The men stepped back into the corner’s
shadows quietly, and soon enough Mikalla had climbed into the room via
the window and it’s nearby tree, then Erin after her as they did
sometimes, though Erin always left immediately. She turned and saw the
men and screamed. The captain had seen it fast enough and he covered
her mouth with his hand, choking off the sound. Mikalla turned also,
and in the single candle that she had left burning he could see the
color drain from her cheeks. He caught her arms in his powerful grip
before she could even think of escaping, and shook her.
“What do you mean, lying to me?! Where were you? Answer me! Where
were you?” Not thinking, she began to babble.
“We were in the cabin, I didn’t mean any harm, darling,
it was just this once…” for the life of her she didn’t
know why she was scared. She wasn’t even scared of her father,
anymore. He shook her again.
“Don’t you dare lie to me any more. Do you hear me? I’m
going to blister your pretty buttocks good and hard. And it won’t
be the last time, believe you me.” Druwn had finally had enough.
He had planned on never resorting to the tried and true method of ensuring
wifely obedience, but it seemed his method had failed miserably. His
anger began to overtake him. Then Mikalla pressed her lips together,
pouting and defiant, which was almost more than the poor man could bear.
He tightly asked his friend to watch the two of them until he came back.
As soon as the door was shut Mikalla sat on the couch, fuming. How dare
he ruin her fun! Who was he to treat her like a child? Erin merely stood
quietly, the captain’s big hand over her mouth and his other on
her shoulder. She was terrified for Mikalla, less for herself. She wished
her lover had listened to her warnings to respect her husband. When
Steven asked her if she would behave herself, she nodded and then sat
quietly in the chair beside him when he released her. He recognized
her but could not make out why she was with Mikalla; he was only glad
that she at least, was obedient.
Outside Druwn was taking his time cutting several thin whippy branches,
smoothing them and bundling them. He needed the time to calm down, he
realized. He still loved her. How absurd, he thought. And he hoped and
prayed he’d only have to do this once, but to ensure that, it
was going to have to hurt very much, and for a long time. So he planned
her punishment, slowly, taking the time so he wouldn’t hit her
in rage and hurt her more than he intended. Because he didn’t
want to do her any harm, actually, just teach a very unpleasant but
vital lesson: do not lie, do not run off, and do not disrespect me.
By the time Druwn returned Mikalla had begun to cool off somewhat herself,
and began to be slightly fearful again. Seeing how upset he was bothered
her for some reason – she couldn’t seem to shake the disquiet
she felt at deceiving him. When she heard his steps on the stair she
actually flinched a little. And then he was before her. He laid the
thin bundle on the table, took her hairbrush and laid it beside it.
“Mikalla,” he began, “I love you.” Her head
snapped up at the words, not sure how to respond. “I loved you
long before I asked for your hand and I have loved you every minute
that we have been married. I respect you. I have treated you well, have
I not?” Lip beginning to tremble she nodded. He was rubbing it
in! “I have catered to your very whim, allowed you many extravagancies
and privileges that most wives wouldn’t even dream of asking their
husbands for. I trusted you. Now I find you’ve been lying to me.
You not only avoid me, but go out of your way to sneak out of my house.
Tell me, am I that distasteful to you?” Eyes wide, she shook her
head no. “When we were first married I was happier than I’ve
ever been before. And I thought you were happy. Were you happy, Mikalla?”
Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes and she forced them down.
“Were you?” he prompted again and she nodded. “Then
why, Mikalla? Why now? What happened?” The pain in his eyes was
too much for her and she looked down, but his words caught her like
a whip. “Look at me!” he snapped. She obeyed.
“I – I… you didn’t… you weren’t
here, very much At – at first I didn’t think – didn’t
think you’d notice. I – I’m sorry, Druwn.” He
forced himself to stay calm and sat in the chair facing her.
“I asked for an explanation, not an apology. You will apologize
plenty later.” His voice came out cold, but he didn’t care.
Glancing involuntarily at the things on the table she bit her lip. “Go
on, Mikalla.”
“I – I was lonely without you here. You were always so busy
with the business. And you were so gentle to me – I – I
couldn’t stand it. I snuck out nearly every time I slept in here.
It was the only reason I wanted this room… I suppose… I
got selfish.” As the realization of the extent of her treachery
hit him he nearly choked.
“You’ve been going out behind my back for over a year?!”
He asked, incredulous and wounded. Mikalla’s throat tightened
with pain.
“Yes… yes, Sir,” she said, finally giving him that
tiny vestige of respect out of empathy for his pain. It felt like a
mockery of it to her husband. He couldn’t bear to ask the next
question, but he had to know; her behavior was exactly that of an adulterous
wife.
“Who… who is he?” the words were spoken so hoarsely
she could scarce make them out, but she understood, and shook her head,
feeling the incredible thickness of the tension in the air.
“Not… he, Sir. She.” Mikalla inclined her head towards
Erin, closed her eyes and waited for a blow. When it didn’t come
for a few long minutes she looked up cautiously to see him staring at
her as comprehension took over.
“This girl?” he asked. The mood had changed somewhat –
it was almost lighter, less oppressive. Erin shifted posture warily.
And then he roared. “YOU ABANDONED ME NIGHT AFTER NIGHT FOR THIS
GIRL??” Mikalla began to cry. And then, he began to laugh.
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