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Echo Island


Scotland, 1310.

Cassandra felt the cold tendrils of night stroke the back of her bared neck and pulled her collar tighter around her. Her fingers were like ice even encased in the leather gloves she wore, her breath left her in large smoky white puffs. Despite her attempts, the tail of her black coat swept across the dirt roads as she walked, and she shivered at the thought of what the material could be picking up along the way.

There wasn’t much she could do about it, about anything really. Her father had been announced dead that very morning and now she was wondering the streets alone at night. How very improper of her. Surely if her father had still been alive he would never allow such undignified an act to take place.

You’re just a woman, he would say. Walking alone, especially at night is dangerous and beneath your stature. And he would be right. He owed the surrounding lands. Bad people could try and use her against him. But what did it matter now? He was already dead.

Besides, what was the point of life if one didn’t attempt to live a little every once and a while?

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