The biggest question hanging over me after last session was the question of Norman. She was squeezing her crop nervously, bright hazel eyes darting everywhere around the house, but she quickly latched onto Lydia’s arm with one of her hands, holding on tightly, similarly to how she did down in the Netherworld when they first met. The streams of blood down her face and side of her head were completely dried now, crusted over and flaking off. Black hoofprints were stamped up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, and some areas of the fabric were ripped, revealing grimy, bruised, and bloodied flesh underneath. ![]() Her jockey uniform was slathered in a thick caking of mud-and then Lydia realized most of that was just dried blood. It was impossible to tell if the dark rings around her eyes were from sleep deprivation or were just shiners caused by her death. Even her lips were completely leached of color. Her skin was no longer pale pink like it had been in the Netherworld, rather just pale, as if all the blood was drained from her body and leaving her as an empty shell. ![]() ![]() Presley looked much, much worse in full lightning.
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