At first, Elizabeth thought that the young girl pouring her heart out to them had been Gemma playing one of her tricks. However, it did not take too long before she was convinced the story they were being told by Grace Regan was a genuine one.
The thought of immature Bunny Regan being held prisoner somewhere was chilling. Heaven only knew what he was going through at this moment and how confused and frightened he must be feeling.
Gracie had told them that she was fourteen but she looked much younger to Elizabeth. Gracie’s frail frame was probably the result of a poor diet and very little, if any, health care.
One fact from Gracie’s story was not adding up though. The girl had been specific about the fact that the dog had broken through her skin and given her a nasty bite. There was certainly fresh blood upon Gracie’s shawl and clothes and yet, as far as Elizabeth could see, no open or recent wound.
“How is your arm now, Gracie?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s...,” Gracie looked down at her wound. “Bloody hell! It’s healed,” she exclaimed. “Sorry for swearing, Miss.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I probably would have said exactly the same thing in your place. No need for the ‘Miss’ either. Please call me Elizabeth.”
What do we do now?
“We make our way to RoYds,” answered Grispheran.
Labels: 1690s, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction