"What date is it today?"
The peasant soldiers and guards receded like a tide, and Catherine stood on the wall, wiping blood from her glasses with a handkerchief, and asked softly.
Around her, the crimson bloodsucking vines lay on the corpses, greedily sucking the blood.
"July 22nd."
Catherine's senior partner and the association's secretary, Elindor, bowed and replied.
"Four days left?" Catherine looked down at her hand, seeing double images of it, with strange spiral patterns swirling, crawling like little snakes.
After many days of continuously using spells intensely and occasionally being exposed to divine art, her mind began to show signs of strain.
It was as if she was back in those days of wandering; as long as anyone fell ill, she would be blamed as the source of the plague.
Refugees dared not defy her, nor lay a hand on her, it wasn't respect, but fear.
"I feel something's off." Catherine's voice had gained a lot more hissing sounds.
