(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

know much about her... she keeps the Powers out of Sigil, keeps the fiends
out, and talks and deals with nobody... 'cept maybe the dabus. She'll pen ya
in the Dead-Book right quick if ye worship her or try and hurt Sigil. Her face
n' the blades surroundin' it would be the last ye'd see..."
"Interesting..."
There was that tingling feeling again, like a thousand insects crawling
beneath my scalp. At the mention of a face surrounded by blades a memory
forced itself into my consciousness.
~~~~~
My boots slap against the pavement as I flee past the tailor's, past the
closed-up eatery. I run past the abandoned carts, the shops and apartments
whose darkened windows stare at me like jet-black eyes.
Not even the cranium rats are about... there's nary a squeak, not a groan of
a vagrant or the sound of a footpad's knife dragging against a leather
sheath. There is only my heavy breath, the sound of my footsteps, and the
chill wind that blows through the darkened alley.
I lean against a wall. My lungs feel as if they had been raked with razors and
my throat is raw. My legs collapse from under me, no longer buoyed by the
momentum of my flight. I try to find the breath to sob as She floats towards
me: an uncannily beautiful woman, her face shrouded in blades and her eyes
cold as pure, distilled purpose. There is only the shudder of my breath, the
pounding of my hearbeat, and the tender keening of her blades...
~~~~~
The memory faded, and I was talking to the lad once more.
I shuddered, shaking off the phantom sensation of razors caressing my flesh,
and tried to think of something, anything to focus on. I rubbed my chin and
thought back to my encounter with Sebastion. The man was tight-lipped and
would've offered nothing, and Grosuk was dead, so they would've been of
little help. "Do any creatures ever come out of these portals?"
The boy's eyes grew a little wider. "Aye, they do. Most of 'em jest stoppin'
through..." He swallowed nervously and looked worried.
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