With his other arm trapped beneath his body, and my knife punched deep in his right trapezius, he’d lost the mobility of everything downstream of hi... shoulders. “Yentian? Kecerian?” I yelled for my guards, though I was sure they were dead. When silence answered me, I knew it was true. I looked down at the assassin. The blue blood that seeped from his wounds told me that the high-elf skin he wore was but a biological costume. He was a changeling, either a doppler or an incubus. “Cyanide?” I. Mine wasn't much better. We both needed something to spice things up.One night I was chatting with Mary late at night, and Daryl came online too. It was kinda strange, they were sitting on opposite ends of the lounge, each with a laptop, chatting to me (and to each other). I suggested a three-way (conversation, that is), and soon we set it up.We started talking about fantasies, and Mary was hinting that she wanted to spend some personal time with me. I sent them one of my stories ("Developers". More

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