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“Shhh. Don’t struggle.”

It was a soft, feminine voice; one that conjured golden barley fields, summer breezes, and home cooking.

“There’s no point,” it continued, “You won’t get away.”

I blinked and tried to shake away the fog in my head, but I could barely move. My head was restrained, as were my arms, my legs. She must have drugged me. There’s no way she could have overpowered me otherwise.

“You’re right,” she said, leaning over to look down at me. “I drugged your beer. It seemed… appropriate.”

Little cow. I remembered her now; the blonde from Mackay’s Bar. But that was over a month ago- how could I have let her get near my beer?

“It’s amazing, really, how much difference a brown wig can make,” she said. “You didn’t even recognise me. And that? That almost hurt more than any of the rest of it.”

She stared down at me, big blue eyes full of hate.

“This is going to hurt,” she said. “A lot.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. She laughed.

“You think saying sorry is going to help? You think I might be inclined to be lenient with you?”

She walked away, out of sight, but only for a moment, then she was back.

With a knife.

“I am justice,” she said. “I am vengeance. And you are going to pay.”

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Three Word Wednesday time again, and the prompt words are Fog, Lenient and Struggle.)

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