Friday Fictioneers is an insane scramble to tell a story with a paltry 100 words. I’ve missed the last couple of weeks and suffered withdrawal as a result. Obviously, Rochelle’s aim is to enslave us all and force us to write efficiently. My story this week is about enslavement, as well, though I can’t quite picture Rochelle as the evil necromancer who terrorizes my characters–but you never know.
“Run!” He stood above me atop the castle tower, a shadow in the moon-bright sky. “Don’t stop. I’ll find you.”
Out the castle gates I flew. Magic snapped at my heels, enchantments loosed by a foe beyond my craft.
“I’ll find you!” My enemy’s whisper assured.
At the outer gate, I fell, spent, my fingers coiled above the atom of life in my belly. The castle, a black hole in the night, blazed to phosphorescent blue lightening . . . and winked out. Gone. Dissolved in the ether.
Whose witchery prevailed? I squinted down the path with light-blind eyes, waiting.
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