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of a lunatic’s mind, it hummed with a potential that could
            only be coaxed into shape by the sharpest of wills or the
            strongest of magics—itself merely a dream given direction.
            Yet this was the Prince’s mistake, as my will was equally
            potent even without the benefit of magic words and sleight
            of hand. I had no idea where I was specifically, which was
            to my advantage. Without knowledge aforethought, my will
            could place me wherever I wished “here” to be. Hence I was
            able to bend the darkness into a journey—back home.
               As I rode the darkness linking one shadow to the next,
            I could feel the blackness parting behind me, pushed aside
            by the Prince as he gave chase. I emerged from a night sky,
            tumbling like a comet to the earth, through tree branches and
            brambles, till at last the world rose up to greet me. I splashed
            down into the murky waters of a cold forest pool.
               Of the Prince, I heard nothing, but he was close, perhaps
            only  slightly  farther  than  the  distance  of his magician’s
            blades. “I bet you didn’t know this, but your opponent is the
            son of a witch,” he said from nowhere in particular. “And his
            father was a thirteenth son. So you must see by now, you’ve
            really no chance, here. I’ve been charitable with you thus
            far, primarily because you’re nearly the anomaly I am. But
            regrettably for you, nearly isn’t quite good enough.”
               “Strange,  but  you  sound  more  like  a  cliché  to  me,”  I
            jeered, “not at all the anomalous creature you make yourself
            out to be. You’re so rote, in fact, that I’m now fairly certain
            your trio form is merely the predictable side effect of the
            Power of  Threes, undoubtedly  exercised  by your mother
            at your birth. Why, I’m even beginning to wonder what a
            common Halloween costume such as yourself is even doing
            in this Game of Wolves.”
               It was clear the Prince would not be so easily rattled at
            the cusp of what he assumed were my final moments. “And
            what noble blood makes you a more qualified attendee to
            this sport of murderers, eh? It certainly couldn’t be those
            awful ‘works of art’ you leave in your wake. I’ve known
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