Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
The worlds lay before Merye in hasty lettering: jagged, broken, and drifting erratically. She wanted to look up to glower at her fellow apprentices. Had they known this bore magic when she’d been tasked to review it?
The magic tugged at her, demanding she follow the instruction.
To the soul who inherits these words, my sympathies.
Sympathies? Why would the writer pen this? The words pushed her forward.
Merye’s gaze passed over the characters, recognized them, but her mind refused to form them. And the power within the paper grew, tugged at her hands.
She blinked. The power slipped from sensation to visible, writhing about her wrists into bindings of power. Voices cried out, but their words made no sense as she finished reading.
To my release.
Her vision swam, and Merye shook her head trying to cast whatever out. The world recoalesced about her.
The paper was gone. No, it lay on a desk several steps away with a man slumped it. A quill still rested in his hand. And behind him stood… a man.
Insufficient word.
His name teased her mind once more as the word had.
He grinned.
“Take up your quill.”
She plucked up up the dead man’s quill and pushed him to the side. Sitting, she paused and waited for his words.
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