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She had been pottering about the kitchen, hoping to come up with a decent meal. And then, it had come. A vivid vision of something terrible. No, someone... someone familiar, yet foreign. It had struck her paralysed to the ground, just as she vaguely heard Larry's scream.
A handsome half-elven face. Marred by a scar over the right eye. Greyish-blue eyes. Yes, those damned eyes! Spree's eyes... Could it be her brother?... The scythe on the collar-bone glowing in a flaming red. They must be related anyhow...
For a moment, she remains immobile, the unknown force gripping her feet to the ground. But just as suddenly, it is released, and she almost crumples onto the ground.
Rushing out of the house now, she sees her unconscious husband lying on the ground. Hurriedly, she stoops beside him and unbuckles his girdle, fastening it around her own waist.
Aided now by superhuman strength, she lifts him off the ground and carries him back into the house, placing him gently onto the bed. As the moments pass, she wonders whether to shake him awake or let him continue in his seemingly peaceful sleep...
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