Allan: Healer hopeful, possibly dungeon made.
"What?" I ask because my ears are ringing, and I think that, if I wasn't sitting, I would have fallen to the floor.
"Oh, my," Margie presses a hand to her mouth. I can understand her. Dungeon made people are...monsters. Boss mobs in all but name.
But what of my mother? Was she even my mother?
Augustine takes a hold of my hand and gives it a light squeeze.
"You are still you. I mean, plus immortality, I guess," he says, his grin never leaving his face.
Why is he grinning? Not only was I a prostitute, but now they claim I am not even human?
All the things he has done for me up to now stop me from snapping at him. Yet, the only thing I can do is to bite my lower lip. I place the fork I have been gripping for dear life down.
"May I be excused?" I ask. Augustine doesn't let go of my hand.