For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

The Immortal, Forbidden Cities
by Boris Kinnison-bar Clarke

   Waiting alone in the Red Chamber, remembering its bloody history, with the barely unconquerable, remarkable sprightly piping of the Vicar’s flageolet wafting in from outside, Ronnie thought once more of Baron Constance, the bold bandito who had been so gentle in her arms. He was now, according to the message on the dagger, recklessly endangering her life as well as his own.
   It was then that came a confused chorus of greetings from the courtyard, and she realized, in a single instant, what was now to happen. He was here! “I couldn’t stay away, Sweet Cheeks!” he gasped.
   At long last he once again began to woo her with the sensual voice of his Stradivarius, and as the truth — the whole truth — slowly came home to her, she started to think about what they would call their children.

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