The Amarite Hunter

The Amarite Hunter

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Nov 10, 2019
My heart beat faster. He was going to murder me, leave me in the woods for the wolves to eat. I was going to die, and the son of the one who killed my family was going to bestow on death the gift of one more Royal Phsylia. I didn't speak. "Where are you headed, on a freezing night like this?" I had expected it to come out mockingly, but he asked it as if we were equals. A few minutes passed, without me answering. "What's your name?" it came out soft, and he was trying to find my eyes. "Allyse." "Allyse." He repeated it, trying it out on his tongue. I met his eyes. I couldn't find the look of murder in them, but I knew the tactics of a good Amarite hunter. Pretend to be soft, pretend to be friends, and then strike.
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#237
differentworld
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What did they mean? I knew who I was, didn't I? I was Rosalia Mallory, a girl left on the doorstep of our town's foster agency to find a new home. From there I went through three homes before at the age of 16 instead of having to live in the group home I secured enough money to, along with the money the foster carers were given for me, to buy an apartment building. Alongside a job bartending and waitressing I had enough money to attend college and am currently studying Religion and Mythology, Creative writing and Art. Just a normal teenage girl with a normal life. But at the same time, I'm not. Who am I? Seems like the most cliché question a teenager can ask right? Except when your missing months, if not years, of your life suddenly that seemingly simple question takes on a whole new meaning. After all, if you don't know your whole past how can you answer that for yourself?

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