Corinne gazed wearily at her expansive bookshelf, and sighed. Though there were many books packed there- fifty-two, to be precise- she had read every single one of them at least five times before. But she was so bored! And there wasn't much else she could do- she'd already gone outside to exercise. She couldn't remember doing it, but her slightly aching muscles certainly did.

Twisting her mouth as she often did when trying to make a decision, Corrine searched for a book she hadn't read in a while. She finally pulled down a thick volume bound in black leather with the title embossed in grandiose gold lettering: "The Adventures of Luke Lionheart". She took the book over to her mother's old rocking chair, curled up, and began to read. She had only just begun to lament the lack of female champions in literature when a noise from outside startled her: squelching footsteps followed by voices.

"It's late. Maybe she's asleep." Said a gruff, masculine voice.

"It doesn't matter," Replied a second voice, also male. "The Pythoness is only one; we are four."

Corinne put her book down as he voices grew louder and closer. She got to her feet as four men entered, staring confusedly around them and at each other. Three were armored and all four were armed, though they looked puzzled as to why. Nevertheless, Corinne carefully clutched a dagger behind her back.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice strong despite her wariness.
The man in front stared at her for a moment, a look of consternation on his scarred face. "I don't know." He replied despairingly. Corinne recognized his voice as the second who has spoken.

"Neither do I." Said the man without armor. He wore an eyepatch and carried a sword, which he sheathed. "Where am I?"

"You are in the abode of the Pythoness." Corinne said carefully, "But I'm afraid she's been dead for some time now."

This information failed to register with her visitors. Realizing they were not a threat, Corinne decided to act kindly toward them. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." She told them, smiling. They seemed to take comfort from her friendly manner, putting away their weapons and seating themselves on cushions on the floor. "Is there anything I can get you?" Asked Corinne, something to drink, maybe?"

"Yeah," Grinned the man with the gruff voice. "That would be nice." The other three all agreed, and Corinne walked over to the water spigot in the wall. As she filled four wooden cups, she glanced over her should at her guests. In her youth, a man named Galloran had taught her how to recognize the armor worn by conscriptors, the servants of Maldor. Three of her visitors were outfitted as he had described. The fourth had an eyepatch, which could only mean that he was a displacer. There was no doubt in Corinne's mind: these men had come to kill her. There was only one thing she could do.

Corinne withdrew a small vial of clear liquid from a cabinet on the wall. Making sure that her back shielded her hands from view, she deftly put a drop of the liquid into each cup, then served her guests with a smile. "Here you are." she said sweetly.

"Thank you, miss." Said the third conscriptor politely. Corinne feigned another smile. She had to remind herself that these men were not themselves. If not for the memory-erasing puffballs growing inside the tree, they would have slain her without hesitation.

Suddenly, the lead conscriptor fell face-first into the floor. The others looked at each other in confusion, then one by one, they met an identical fate. Just to be certain, Corinne knelt beside each of them and checked for a pulse. All four of their hearts had ceased beating.

Now came the tricky part: disposing of the bodies. Corinne dragged the first conscriptor out by his wrists. In the tunnel, her memories began to wane. What was she pulling that was so heavy? Oh, right! The conscriptors. She was forcibly reminded of when her mother had died. Her mother? No, Great-Aunt Madeline! She stepped out of the tree into the murky light of late evening on the swamp. Why had she come outside? She looked down at the body she had been dragging and gasped in surprise.

"A conscriptor?" She murmured to herself. "What in the world..? No matter." She shrugged and picked up the man's wrists again. She pulled him to the nearest shore, and then pushed him into the foul water. As she repeated the process with her other would-be assassins, she was grateful for the rigorous muscle conditioning she had put herself through for years.

After the last body had been dumped, Corinne slumped tiredly into her rocking chair and picked up her book. But her mind was whirling. Why had the Emperor suddenly dispatched his minions to slay her? It meant that he had discovered that she protected a syllable of the Word that could unmake him. But how did he find out? She thought of the most recent seekers of the Word, Jason and Rachel. Had hey, along with their mentor Galloran, failed in their quest and been captured? Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the prospect. But it was the only possible explanation she could think of. A wave of despair washed over her. If Galloran had fallen, then no one was ever coming to get her. She would live in this tree all her life, like her mother, and die all alone. At least her mother had not been alone when she passed away. And with these thoughts, Corinne cried herself to sleep.