Rhyn awoke from the island dreamscape in the shadow world. He rose, uncertain what happened but recalling his urgency. He crossed through the glowing black portal into the one place he'd hoped never to see again: Hell. Unwilling to get stuck in the cell where he'd spent many lifetimes, he chose to open the portal into the office of the Council's betrayer, Sasha. The office was as he remembered it, down to the black flames in the hearth.
For contemporary history and also for the century or so which preceded the lifetimes of their authors these writings are fairly trustworthy, but beyond this they are little more than collections of legends.
I could not in one hundred lifetimes make a working electric lamp, even knowing what I know now.
There was no way in a dozen lifetimes I'd ever get a sniff at a tenth of that much money!
Now, she was at least half the woman he'd spent lifetimes loving and hating.
Two lifetimes at least?
Not in one hundred lifetimes could I make a car.