Rus Enstitusu 28- Disiplin -franck Vicomte- Mar... -

Franck looked up. His eyes were clear. There was no pain there, only a terrifying calm.

He stopped reciting.

The second sting. The third. By the tenth, his hand was a swollen, pulsing map of red craters. By the twentieth, his recitations became prayers, his voice a cracked whisper. Rus Enstitusu 28- Disiplin -Franck Vicomte- Mar...

The bees did not care for property law. They cared for the salt of his sweat, the iron of his blood. Franck looked up

"You should finish the discipline," Franck said, offering his swollen hand. "But it won't matter. You can't break what's already gone." his hand was a swollen

"Discipline ends."

Inside the jars: silence. Then sound. The buzzing began.