The woman woke in bedsheets warm
Clean and rested well
She sat up fast to prepare to leave
But found she wouldn't yet
The debtor sat at a modest table
Eating a luscious breakfast
He welcomed her to join him too
She had to ask him why
He laughs and says he owes her much
As he owes so many
He hopes through service of this saint
He'll even out the score.
Through his confession he asks one of her
What made her want to help
She bowed her head for a solemn tale
At least it was to her
Her life was spent at a gypsy camp
Travl'ling through the slums
But soon a man took hold of them
He called himself the Flight
She'd seen so much at his cruel hands
She'd escaped to find things new
But found this place was just as scarred
As what she'd left behind
She wanted to know if it all could end
So she took her first step
The debtor smiled and shook her hand
She wouldn't do it alone.
Next Week: The First Death
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