As soon as the goo had enveloped phule, he flipped a lever on the gun and fired a burst of a clear liquid, setting the goo so that someone attempting to grasp the victim could do so without getting caught. Tears fell from his face as he cradled the hand in his arms. The man in the door was solid, athletic-looking, and he held a revolver with familiar ease.
There are just poets and there are just kings and there are just wealthy men.
He would not allow so appalling a crime to be committed, as the death of a brave man, through the hand of a woman who loved him, and worshipped him, and who would gladly have died for his sake.