Geralf - Stitching

 I expected the hall to be filled with the village’s inhabitants, and in the strictest sense of the term, I was correct. Geralf announced our presence with a flourish, and our would-be dinner companions looked up from their plates.

Each one was a stitched congregation of stolen parts, an arm here, a lip there. Some had been made to resemble the humans they once were, while others were more grotesque sculptures of flesh, with four arms or twin torsos.

Geralf beamed with pride, and clearly sought our approval at such a display. Reika made no noise, but as I glanced at her I could tell we shared the thought: it was time to leave.

***

THE CURSED SWORD