I charged after.She sprang to the left, darting down the ruined stairs the ogre crashed up. My bare feet smacked on the ground, breasts heaving before...me. I wouldn’t let the bitch get away. Not when I had her disarmed. I just had to close in on her, hack her down, then go help fight the ogre.I reached the stairs, steps crushed by the ogre’s weight, the walls cracked and dented by his bulk. Pieces of plaster spilled over the runners. The handler landed in a crouch on the middle landing and. That evening she had laid the table carefully. The silverware polished, candles in their holders, flowers from the garden as a table centrepiece. A dozen oysters on ice in the 'frig (his favourite starter), succulent veal strips with a little fragrant basmati rice for her to rapidly yet tenderly cook in a cream sauce as he finished his oysters and sipped his Muscadet wine. Afterwards, a créme Brûlé, Armagnac, coffee. And then, bed. Or hanging from the ceiling if he wanted. More

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