‘Exactly like my father. . I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. ’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury.
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