wertya

Dear Diary, My name is Lydia. I came from the Hisjariev, a clan in the upper west areas of old Ireland. My people called me a princess, but surely, would a princess do what I have done? Let me explain. It may help me to calm down. And besides, whoever finds this will make a judgment of their own. After all, what is a world without freedom of speech and thought? My clan was one of wisdom, where women were as powerful and respected as men were. We were a peaceful society, everyone was equal, and I was educated by the most learned of priestesses. Every day I would wake up at the crack of dawn and perform my stretches and exercises, to make

Eleni was standing behind a bar, wiping some damp glasses dry. It was 11.56 pm. Her shift was due to end in four minutes. The front entrance of the bar was swung open, and Eleni looked up with her best I'm-tired-but-I-have-to-be-nice-to-the-customer smile. A man walked in. Eleni recognised him as Sam, the magician from the city. He was obviously a fake, but he always charmed the ladies and had an interesting story or two to tell her about his day. But today he looked horrible. Eleni's smile faded as he walked toward the bar. "Whiskey on the rocks," he muttered. His words were a little slurred, but he already had money on the bar, and Eleni