When the Steward recovered, his eyes darted towards Marc. Those grey eyes were glassy, lacking any sign of recognition. The uniform would have thrown the man off, but Marc’s sunburnt skin and sharp features should have been a clue. After as the man rolled back the years, he took in a sharp breath.
Blood drained from his face, leaving behind greyish skin that reminded Marc of a desiccated corpse. This was not helped by the whin wiry hair that refused to be tamed. At least, I’m witnessing your true form.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Théodore said softly as though he were confessing his sins to the parish priest.
“There’s only one of us that looks like a corpse, Théodore.”
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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