The Revised Man

Startled, her attention shot to the corridor where she had encountered him, where he had died.

From the corridor, the man beneath the stands uneasily watched the theatrics taking place on the green. The puppet lords and ladies danced for their masters on silver cords which he could plainly see and which he expected. Why then was he on edge?

Something here was other than it should be. His sensitivity to the wrongness of situations had served him well on many occasions. A swift, detailed review of his surroundings only left him puzzled. The Lady of the Fair Isle seemed to be staring at him, her expression difficult to interpret. She was not the source of the feeling but perhaps she was aware of it as well.

Wrongness seemed to pervade everything around him: the structures, the people, the very air. He focused. No, not all around… closer than that… much closer… within him.

Then it was gone and the world was normal. He turned, forgotten by the Lady, and made his way out of the arena.

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