
Aside from the Battle
If you think elven princes do nothing but sip nectar from golden goblets, you clearly haven't met Melaros. Real elves rise at four in the morning, brew their own damn fine coffee to the synth-pop beats of Depeche Mode, and head out to swallow dust at the end-of-season rally.
Forty entries in total — barely half the usual turnout — starting at strict one-minute intervals.
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Читать ещёГлава 1Have you ever had to pull yourself out of bed at four in the morning? If so, you know the feeling. It’s that bitter realization that staying up would have been easier than tearing yourself away from the screen of your own mind right at the climax of a dream. You spend the next half hour just trying to peel your heavy eyelids open, fighting off sleep over a mug of black coffee or while mindlessly brushing your teeth. And yet, skipping sleep wasn’t an option either. The day ahead looms long and unyielding, and it won’t afford you even a brief minute to fade out.That morning, Melaros envied Erion with every fiber of his soul. A zombie had no need for sleep, let alone for a waking up — especially one this wretched. Melaros had dragged himself awake ten minutes before the alarm, watching through the window as a bright autumn sun tried to claw its way through the thick September fog. W…
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