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Summary
“Your ministry is offering, you know…”
“Refuge,” He said softly, finishing my sentence for me. He reached his hand out to mine, and when I took to shake it, I realized his fingers were clawed. They seemed more like metal than flesh and nails, but I wasn’t going to rule out if they were real or not. I had no idea what these supposed “ghouls” looked like.
“I am Perpetua. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” his claws wrapped around my wrist, one of his fingers resting on my pulse. He did not let go.