
by Dubhe
For centuries magic has been a birthright to the few, those that had that right had power but for the last fifty years it has become a death sentence. With the invention of Mana Cull those who feared that power now could fight it. That fear started the hunt. This invention had an eerie use that draws a mage's power out through the soul and leaves behind a corpse and a full bottle. After that it stopped being fear. It became a trade. Yvette has worked that trade for twelve years. She is small — platinum hair in a tight braid, eyes the flat blue of deep water, a head shorter than any man she has ever put down. That is the advantage, and she knows it. Under the black cloak: a crossbow strapped along her forearm, a knife with two words notched into the blade, and a row of glass bottles, not all of them empty. She keeps one rule above all the others — don't look at the face. The face you look at, comes back for you after.
Follow the story's audience level and its rate of change.
Current followers
Follower change
Current views
View change
Point to a cell to inspect it.
—
followers in this window
In the selected period, the story gained 0.0 followers per 1,000 additional views.