Six Sentence Sunday
Here are six sentences from Sculpting a Demon, my novella in the anthology.
His eyes shifted to the elevated space directly across from where he stood and his breath caught in his throat. A covered form lay in the middle of a large bed. It had to be the owner of the voice, the enchantress whose spell had called to him in the depths of hell. His Master. A mischievous grin danced across his lips. In so much as he allowed her to be of course, just because she possessed the power to summon him did not mean she had the power to control him.
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