The Tale of Abigail
In the morning mist, Abigail groggily waits for the ferry to arrive.
Suddenly, a flash of knives brings her to attention. The flurry of a cape reveals rows upon rows of blades, sized and sharpened to kill, slash, cut, dismember, unlodge, and terminate. They seem to belong to a woman strutting to the ticket counter.
Rivulets of cold sweat run down Abigail's neck and back. She can just imagine the sharpest points slowly scratching across her skin, then plunging into her skin or eyes or heart. Blood gushes out all over the ground, and a sickly hollowness twists at her insides, making her nauseous.
Abigail's mind is now clear. What should she do?
Suddenly, a flash of knives brings her to attention. The flurry of a cape reveals rows upon rows of blades, sized and sharpened to kill, slash, cut, dismember, unlodge, and terminate. They seem to belong to a woman strutting to the ticket counter.
Rivulets of cold sweat run down Abigail's neck and back. She can just imagine the sharpest points slowly scratching across her skin, then plunging into her skin or eyes or heart. Blood gushes out all over the ground, and a sickly hollowness twists at her insides, making her nauseous.
Abigail's mind is now clear. What should she do?