The Night Of A Thousand Hours: Finale
(This is the last part, of both adventures. Regular stuff starts back up on Wednesday, beginning with the strip we did at PAX East. I don’t have any smart-ass shit to say about this part - and whatever else it may be, it pushed the thorn of my intention straight through his cornea. He never forgot it.)
Before he can finish the story, she is asleep. He tried to gloss over the worst parts, to soften them, but he knows she is no fool.
Father Gordon stands from his stool, leaning over the simple bed, making sure the blanket is tucked properly. As he does so, she begins to change, gently. First, taking on the soft violet of an immortal deva - exquisite and delicate. Then, a half-elven boy, whose ears begin to soften. She begins to suckle on her thumb, the hand dense and dwarven. Then, horns, sweet and small, curl from her forehead.
Her life will be hard, he knows. Very hard. She must learn to hold her form when she is hurt, or angry. He lifts his holy symbol to his lips, speaking a word of thanks to Avandra, and to the strangers who gave him a new life on the longest night of the year.