What could possibly go wrong when you’re a sorceress and you’re late for your workshop in the morning? Anything! Including an apocalypse. In my case, not figuratively, but completely real: a tall, imposing, noble… jerk! One who isn’t even affected by the harshest dark curses. Or will I find a spell that will finally get him?
The main thing is to do it before I’m driven to the limit myself. To the grave, the altar, or the dungeons of some secret chancellery—well, as luck would have it… But so far, the most lucky are the murderers who’ve begun hunting me, a modest artifact-maker. And why, in this situation, the safest hiding place from their daggers is the back of one impossible type—so resistant to curses?