Now seated in the bailiff's study, Vincent's attention was locked on the stack of papers in front of him. He had been going through them since the previous night.
There was so much that had happened since his departure.
He had hoped things would settle down in Hassile, but unfortunately for him—for all of them—they had only gotten worse.
Ten new deaths in three days.
All young men between the ages of fifteen and twenty.
Their eyes and hearts had been plucked out.
Their skin was far too pale, with webs of pulsing red lines covering their bodies, interwoven and twisted, all converging at the hollow space in their chests.
Even though they were quite obviously dead, their bodies still carried the warmth of the living.
The villagers were beginning to suspect sorcery.
Livron had mentioned that they were now too afraid to leave their homes. Only a handful of people still ventured to the farms and markets.
