Date: 2007-06-20 11:09 am (UTC)
Rakitin's breath deserted him in a soft sigh.

"As ready as anyone gets," he said, quietly and without bitterness.

The grotesque and horrible held its own fascination. Ippolit couldn't look away. There were ways to make it useful, and a job that had to be done.

Nika looked strange, facing the dead man in the floodlight that turned everything into a a scene cast in pale clay, hand outstretched like a prince speaking to a skull. I knew him.

No limbs. Maybe farther into the cave, where the shadows were deeper. They would have to look. The face was left intact, this time. Little enough else for company. Only enough to betray that it had once been a man.

Something nagged at Rakitin. A snowflake of wrong among the avalanche. Something about the lay of the netting.

He stepped forward, looking a question at Nika, who nodded wordlessly.

Can't cry in the graveyard. Leave it to the ghosts.

With careful, mechanical motions, Rakitin unwound the netting.

"Genitalia removed," Rakitin said, without inflection.
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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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