Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Missale picked up the hearty teacup from the table and sipped. Rapping her nail against the cup, she looked at none of the women seated around the small table.
Athet sat stiffly across the table. Her gaze remained fixed on her own cup.
Sabenn stirred honey into her tea, biting her lip nervously.
Eryn chittered ceaselessly. Turning between each of them incessantly.
Each showed their nerves in their own way, but Missale recognized their signs. They’d invited her, had a reason, and none knew how to proceed.
Their nerves were because all her friends were positive she had a sixth sense. But who had need that specifically?
Not Eryn. That woman spoke directly about her own issues. Her chatter would be to encourage the others.
Not Sabenn. Even nerves would not move her to gnaw her own lip. She wore physical perfection as an armor.
That left Athet.
Boisterous Athet who sit timidly.
Definitely her, but why? She gave Missale no cue.
Tapping her cup lightly she gazed into the liquid. “Speak of your troubles, Athet,” she says softly.
The woman jerked her gaze from her cup. “I… how did you…”
Missale smiled. “I know much, but for my sight to extend further, you must speak yourself.”
The woman’s lip trembled a moment. Then the words poured out in a torrent. As she spoke answers and fees calculated within Missale’s mind.
Missale’s friends thought she’d the six sense. She had no reason to dispel the notion.
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