Hiding from the FBI wasn't the jolly romp my imagination had cooked up. My location would've been pinged faster than a cricket ball off a bat if not for Grace's enchantment. Apparently, according to Lazaros, she was a full-blown witch.
My boots crunched on the slumbering grass, my skin impervious to the night's chill. The moon, a perfect silver disc, hung high above, casting long shadows as I navigated the deserted, rocky lane beneath the cliff. The server's cryptic instructions guided me.
'Didnt Lazaros creat you?' I had asked, after the server's ascertainment of the trickster's needs to me.
'[No.]' It had simply replied, which I frowned upon. Why did Lazaros lie to me?
Nestled beneath the cliff's craggy face, a cave yawned open, its entrance adorned with a single, impossibly vibrant rose. Unlike the slumbering grasses, it stood defiant, a bloom of life against the stone.
