Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Mirsten, Lord of the Flames, paced his Great Hall. Glowering at the entry, he twisted his staff between his hands. The gloomfell doors remained stubbornly closed. Stopping, he banged his staff and sent a boom echoing through the chamber.
In a puff, his loyal servant appeared next to him. The creature, to gangly for a man, half crouched as if ready to flee displeasure. His head twisted in an odd angle as he gazed at his Lord.
“Lord?” His voice broke shrilly in the chamber.
“Where is she?” Mirsten wrapping his staff again.
His servant blinked and jumped backwards. His shoulders trembled as he watched Mirsten.
“Sh-she didn’t read it.” The servant spoke loudly enough that Mirsten heard them easily. His man had learned to cease mumbling ages ago.
Even so, Merson could not fathom them. “She didn’t read it?” He repeated in shock.
The servant backed away bobbing his head.
She didn’t read it. Mirsten blinked. “SHE DIDN’T READ IT!”
He, Mirsten, Lord of the Flames, had sent Dranalin his ultimatum, his challenge, his proclamation of supremacy, and she hadn’t bothered to read it?
His attention refocused on his servant. The creature knew more. “Why didn’t she read it?” he demanded.
The servant curled in tightly. “I-I stayed as commanded, but Dranalin received a missive from Darkel moments after.”
Mirsten ground his teeth. Darkel, Lord of the Frost, always got in his way. Mirsten would see about that. She would answer his ultimatum.
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