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‘Edwin’s so good!’ She turned to Charlotte and took the hand that wasn’t politely holding the cup of coffee she was soon going to let go cold. ‘And he wants you to join us, Charlotte. Isn’t that wonderful!’ Charlotte hadn’t expected this, and so wasn’t sure how to respond. She gave a little frown, but her thoughts were more on Emma, and the idea of sex with Edwin and Clarissa just didn’t appeal. When would it appeal to her? Charlotte wondered. Perhaps if she’d had more to drink. ‘I feel a bit tired, I’m afraid.’ ‘Oh come on, Charlotte,’ said Clarissa imploringly. ‘It’s not every day you get a chance at this kind of fun.’ That was true, reflected Charlotte, but it was every day she got to witness it. But, as she also thought, Clarissa wasn’t gay and Charlotte was, after all, a lesbian. She shook her head shyly. ‘OK,’ said Clarissa, clearly disappointed. ‘Well, I hope you don’t mind if I go off now and enjoy myself with Edwin.’ Then she raised herself up, and left Edwin and. Once a normal enters the valley, they can live in the scattered villages or they die. That is their only choice..." Then how come all the other psychics don't know about this valley?" Victor asked."The reason is ... I am one of the last of the original members, who constructed this valley fourteen hundred years ago. There is one more in the Swiss Alps, it's a small one, it's where the Council reigns over us. I refuse to bow to them ever again, they think I'm a new psychic, with only twenty years under my belt. If they knew who I was, they would tremble before me. I used my powers to change my features including my height, every forty to fifty years. It was one reason I said leave your loved ones behind. Because you will outlive them all," she said sadly, as tears started flowing down her cheeks."Michelle..." Victor started to ask."Go home, please," she said and vanished.Victor closed his eyes, and his nose told him he was back home in bed. With a deep sigh, he fell into a deep.
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‘Bordel de merde,’ he cursed quietly to himself and stuck out his furry, black tongue, it looked normal but his mouth tasted as if he had been drinking raw sewage from a septic pit, he must be coming down with something, though banal illnesses were not a common occurrence amongst those inflicted with the plagues of hell. The face which stared back at him was one which terrified onlookers and had instilled a sense of loathing in him when he was younger but now it left him indifferent, it was his face, for better or for worse, and no amount of disgust or regret would alter the fact that it would remain with him until the end of his days. He was born in a small village in Lorraine in eastern France but what should have been an ordinary birth soon turned to drama. The midwife could not work out what was wrong with his hair and skin and the local doctor, who was called in, could not elucidate on the matter. He was as totally in the dark as the mother herself. To tell the truth, it was to.

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