cults

They had scouted the old safehouse of the Order cult. It was strange to see it again, to see it in the daytime, empty, again. At least it was still empty. 

A lump stuck on her throat at the sight of the empty space. The grass was tall, uncut and unkempt. The vines had started to get a foothold on the walls of the building and one of the windows had been shuttered.

Elkirian had been drifting away from home for so long. Her bones ached with loneliness, fear and anger. No, not anger, rage. She raged against the world that had blown her around like a dead leaf.