Night had fallen over Sexton, accompanied by the faint rumble of thunder whispering of an approaching storm. Inside one of the abandoned classrooms, an unconscious Ruelle lay on the cold, dusty floor.
"Why isn't she awake yet?" demanded an impatient Alanna, her eyes narrowed at Ruelle, who continued to lie motionless. An hour had passed, but the human beneath them had not woken up.
"Maybe she's pretending to be unconscious," one of her Halfling lackeys suggested, tossing water on Ruelle's face—but she remained unresponsive.
Alanna wanted to inflict pain and humiliation to this stupid human immediately, not expecting she'd have to wait. She hissed, "This was supposed to be a little punishment, not a coma. I even went through the trouble of stealing the Dreamweaver. How much did you use?"
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