"Look, this is a terrible mistake, mister," said Crissa, cringing back from the knife thrust out at her chest from the small man. "You really don't want to do this."

The man, both short and skinny leered at her. "Only mistake was coming down this alley, missy," he said, taking another step toward her, "dressing like an elven whore in that short skirt, there." He chuckled without humor. "Well, now, if you're gonna dress like one, you're gonna get fucked like one."

Crissa shook her head, her straw-colored hair shifting over her shoulders. "I tried to reason with you, mister," she said, her voice full of pity and resignation.

There was a brief moment of worry in the small man's alcohol-addled mind, then there was no worry, nor anger, nor fear. Truthfully, there was little there that could be called an emotion at all, much less a coherent thought. Her sapphire eyes bored into his mind, and she laid it bare. His will was ripped from him, then his thoughts. "I regret this, I want you to know," she said into his mind. Those were the last words he ever understood.

The tall blond walked from the alley, her eyes downcast and a tear on each cheek. Behind her, a man lay folded upon the ground, gibbering and drooling onto the cobbles of the alley. He peered at her with one bleary eye and then bit the tip of his tongue off.

It was simplicity itself to turn a man's mind into a paste within his skull. More difficult, by far, was more subtle manipulation. Two years ago, her powers had grown to the point that she had to be careful where she directed her anger, lest it turn men into blithering idiots in a blink of an eye.

She walked into Marrat's home, and hers these last five years. "Master Marrat?" she called out from the kitchen. She was answered by a muffled reply somewhere toward the library and she moved that direction.

The library made her uneasy. All those words of magical power, scribbled onto parchment and sewn into bindings, then covered in leather and wood sheets, forming books. Books with bright spells, and books with dark spells. 'It is all in the usage', Marrat always said.

She was not sure she believed that, even though she had seen her lover, Wenn, use magic spells that were dark in nature toward good ends, so perhaps it was true. Marrat peered from around a huge tome on a pedestal. "What is it, my dear?" he asked when he saw the expression on her pretty face.

She regarded his shockingly white hair and wrinkled face, and saw the worry etching those wrinkles deeper. "I had to destroy a man's mind tonight," she said in a voice little more than a whisper.

Marrat nodded. "Was it justified?" he asked.

"Of course, master," replied Crissa. "I would never do something like that in a fit of whimsey."

Marrat moved from behind the big book and walked up to her, peering up slightly at her. She was very tall, as tall as a man of goodly height, and not much lighter in build. "I never thought for a second you would," he said, smiling in his gentle way. "I was meaning more along the lines was it truly deserved, rather than, perhaps, an overreaction."

She nodded. "He was going to rape me," said Crissa. "He said as much."

The old wizard nodded. "I thought it might be something like that," he murmured.

Crissa looked at him with concerned eyes. "He said it was my manner of dress that made him loose his mind with lust," she said.

Marrat laughed. "Sadistic bastards are ever seeking for an excuse to hurt people," he said. "His unnatural desire to hurt you was no doing of yours, sweet Crissa. Never think it was."

"I'll try," she said.

"Good," said Marrat. "Now where is that worthless man you call a boyfriend?" He peered around her as if Wenn would be hiding there.

She smiled and then said, "He is still down in Morrovale. Or have you forgotten, you old dodderer?" she asked.

He grinned. "So I did," he said. "That's why I keep you about, you know? Well, that and your beauty."

She blushed slightly. It still amazed her that old Marrat could elicit that response from her, but she respected him, and his casual flirtations were a way he had of showing her he cared for her, even if not in quite the way he made them sound.

"If you were but twenty years younger," she said, shaking her head.

"HAH!" barked Marrat. "Even twenty years younger, I'd be too old for you, young woman. Which reminds me; weren't you supposed to be out - enjoying yourself - for a day or two?"

Crissa nodded. "I was, but I forgot my cloak, and it will grow very chill this night, and I will not be in town come midnight," she said.

He clucked and shook his old head, sending his long, wispy hair flying in a halo. "I'll never get used to how self-assured you are at predictions," said Marrat. "But I am sure it will grow chill and you will be out of town tonight."

She nodded. "It's rather putting off," she said, "I'll admit. But luckily, for my sanity, it rarely works when other people are involved, and I never know who is to be involved."

"I think the One spares your mind by leaving out details like that, sweetie," said the old man, moving back toward his great tome. "Hadn't you best grab that cloak and be off to enjoy yourself?"

She nodded. "Yes, master," she said and scurried out of the creepy room.

Crissa walked down the steps from the kitchen entrance to the large home that was Marrat's house. "What are you predicting for me?" she asked herself, turning onto the cobbled street and heading in a generally random direction, but mostly toward the Two-Penny Nail. The Nail had become her home away from home, and was now her regular haunt.

As she entered, several voices rose in greeting and she smiled and waved toward them. With a small twinge of guilt, or maybe regret, she realized she had slept with most of them, at least once. The patrons of the Nail knew not to pressure her for her favors, they simply accepted them gladly if she offered. It had become something of a mark of acceptance to the clientele to have been bedded by Crissa.

Her prediction had been very vivid, though, and she knew it to be one of the 'truer' ones. She would be out of town this night and it would be very cool. She would also be with a man. What she had not told Marrat was that she would not be coming back, not tonight, not ever.

Perhaps the old man had known that.

Her vision had been clear on that point. She saw herself go into the old farmhouse, but she did not emerge, the man she went there to meet didn't leave, but his accomplice did, a woman with shocking white hair, wearing Crissa's cloak. She would die in that old farmstead.

Why not go back to Marrat's and hide? she asked herself.

Because it would not help, came her own reply. If she went there, she would simply be starting her vision from there rather than somewhere else. Being on alert wouldn't even help, for she would simply cause it to happen, anyway, it always did. Admittedly, most of her visions were not quite so dark, but they were always correct.

She finished off a tall ale and looked to see if she could see the man who had led her to the house. He had long brown hair and a beard. She looked among the men in the bar, several had brown hair and beards, but they were not him, she knew, for he also had eyes of a gray so light, they were almost white.

A voice came from behind her. "Excuse me, miss?" the masculine voice asked. "May I introduce myself?"

"That's a new one," she said turning, then stopped speaking. Her eyes went a bit wide, it was the man. He was handsome, and strong-looking. He was more than handsome, he was perfect.

"Of course, you can," she said, her voice fluttering uncontrollably.

He leaned a bit down, with a hint of an elven head bow, and took her hand, then kissed it. She felt her face flush with blood and knew she must be bright red right now. As he stood again, he said. "I am Relkan, and I am pleased that you allow me to say who I am to you, such a beauty you are."

She felt her heart leap in her chest at his voice. It was rich and deep, and sounded quite cultured. "I am Crissa," she said.

"I know you, Crissa," replied Relkan. "I have watched you from afar for a long while." His smile broadened, and she felt her breathing quicken a bit.

She had been worried about something, but it seemed pointless now. Idle worry about things of little import, she was sure. "You have?" she asked. "They why have you not spoken to me?"

"I'm a bit shy," he offered.

She nodded. "I used to be that way, but I got over it." she joked.

He laughed at that, a deep, bass rumble of a laugh, it was very nice to hear and she wished to hear more of it.

"This may sound forward," she said, "but would you like to go for a walk?"

He nodded. "I would like that very much," replied Relkan. "As a matter of fact, I can think of little I would like more."

She blushed again, knowing he meant far more than her simple company on a walk. He radiated sensuality and she was not immune to it. Already she would let him take her, on the bar if he asked it.

He offered her his arm and they walked out of the bar. She vaguely noted the looks of disappointment on the other patrons, especially those that she had slept with before.

She felt light headed, so giddy was she at this handsome man's attention. He grinned as they talked of the beauty of the night, and the chill of the night air.

It seemed that no time had passed. But it obviously had. She shook her head, and looked about. She was laying upon a large bed, and she was tied down, slim ropes held her hands and feet securely. The room was run-down and filthy, and the windows were broken in, then hastily covered with old bits of blanket.

A smell of old mustiness came to her, and the smell of the earth. She was on a farm, she was in the farmstead. A feeling of deep resignation came over her and she sighed, dropping her head back onto the bare straw-filled mattress.

"I see you are awake, Crissa Disgalen," she heard Relkan say.

She peered into the dark corner of the room and he walked out into the moonlight, poking through a couple of intact window panes.

"I know what is about to happen," she said, "but I would ask why it must happen."

He nodded. "I had heard you were foresighted," he said. "I would have thought you might try to avoid this."

She shrugged, her movement shortened by the restraints. "Why?" she asked. "I'm good, and I knew it was a good foretelling."

He chuckled quietly. "I'm impressed, you're very accepting of your fate."

She looked down at him and his eyes seemed to glow. "Are you going to tell me what I am going to die for or not?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Sure, why not?" he asked. "I am here to rape your mind and body." He smiled at her look of worry. "You see, you and I are much alike, beautiful Crissa." Relkan sat upon the foot of the bed, running a finger down the inside of her thigh. "So much so, that I need what you have, if I am to grow in power."

"And my body?" she asked.

"Oh, that," he said almost negligently, "I'm just a sadist. But I am not heartless. I will let you have one last tumble with another lad of power whom I will be stripping the energies from this night, as well." He pulled out a dagger and slit one of the ropes around one wrist. "Untie yourself and come out into the common room."

She fumbled with numb fingers at the ropes until she was untied, then walked on pins and needles out into the room, her feet still numb from the poor circulation. Relkan was sitting in a creaky old rocking chair. He was holding a crossbow. "Just go on through there and down the stairs. Enjoy yourself a while. Let me know when you are done." She wanted every moment of life she could get, but the idea of trying to escape didn't even cross her mind.

"I'm afraid that young Robar is no match for your powers, dear, but I assure you, he will be happy to see you," said Relkan. "You see, he doesn't wish to die a virgin."

She cursed under her breath as she opened the door and peered down the long stairs to the root cellar, a single candle burned down in the darkness. Descending the rickety stairs cautiously, she walked to the bottom, then turned to face into the cellar proper. Lying upon a cot was a young man, several years her junior, no more than sixteen.

She did not recognize him, but had not expected to. He turned on the cot and his eyes met hers, then widened. "You're not Relkan." he said.

Crissa smiled weakly. "No, I'm not, my name is Crissa," she said, "I suppose we're in the same small cart on a steep road together."

He smiled at that. "He says he will 'drink' my power this night," said Robar.

Crissa walked further into the little room. Robar was a tall, skinny lad, and not particularly handsome in the face, he had a long, hooked nose and his eyes were too small and close together. He also had several bruises on his face and bare arms.

"Did Relkan beat you?" she asked.

Robar nodded. "When I tried to escape," he explained.

A flash of shame overcame Crissa, she had not even tried to escape, she was like a lamb, walking into the slaughterhouse, following the goat stupidly.

She sat on a small, broken crate near the bed and Robar sat up.

"He sent me to be your first, so that you do not die a virgin," said Crissa.

Robar smiled at her. "I don't want you to be my first, lest you desire it."

She grinned at him, and ran her fingers through her honey-colored hair. "I'll admit, you are not the sort I usually find myself longing for," she said, "but if my options are to die having been recently loved, or dying without, I will choose to have been."

"That is one way to look at it," said Robar.

She looked at him earnestly. "That is, of course, assuming you wish to have me," said Crissa.

He laughed heartily at those words. His head tilting back and he barked out a long train of sharp laughs, then slowly descended to a chuckle, wiping tears from his eyes. "Wish to have you?" he asked. "Normally, a woman of your beauty would not even look twice at me, Crissa. A night with you would probably be worth dying over."