#whistpr

[meadowphillips]

Taylor gazes into her girlfriend's eyes, drawn to her as if by magnetic force. "You're the only one for me," she whispers, her voice loud in the quiet room - quiet except for their breathing.

"I feel the same way," Jade whispers back, and their lips meet in a gentle kiss.

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, September 25 - October 1

The young priestess withholds the vial of liquid starlight from you—with good reason. She knows you’re a thief. “Do you swear to take this to the Temple Beyond Time, to place it on Astrea’s Altar?” You lie, of course—and the curse crashes down around you.

-

A flash of red catches your eye, and you leave the trail to see what it is. Red dresses hang from several trees. As the sun goes down, it looks like they are dancing. As you return to the trail, you look back; they are much closer, now. You start running.

-

You come across a small cemetery, headstones streaked with moss. The names are familiar; people you know from town. The death-dates are all set to the future. You notice the nice lady at the post office is set to die this winter. You move on (before you find your own name).

-

The bandits came riding through town, looking for the wizard called Strange. “That one,” scoffed the blacksmith, “is spinning spells in yonder tower, past the cursed woods and the poison river. If you reach the gardens, mind the flowers. And the dragon.”

-

Two noblewomen were gossiping about his mother, the great Lady Knight who saved the realm from the Dark Lord. “—but what a shame about her antisocial son—disgraceful really, how she lets him carry on.” Mal snapped his fingers, setting the hems of their dresses on fire.

-

We didn’t know the house was haunted when we moved in. For a while, we could pretend not to notice. But I can’t ignore what’s happening to my brother; whenever he’s possessed, he smells of smoke. He stares at matches. I’ve called for a priest.

-

Sandy from Drama Club had a near-death experience; now she can speak Latin and play the violin like a concertmaster. Then she started sleepwalking—the other night she made it back to where the accident happened. She started to dig in the dirt with her bare hands.

-

After getting the call, she hailed a taxi, but had to wait until sunset to get him out. The burns on him, from crosses and sunlight, were awful. “How embarrassing,” she said later, “a five hundred year old vampire, getting trapped in a church basement.”

-

Things were not going to plan. Last year, I heard the rumors. Last month, I arrived, learning all the secrets of this place. Yesterday, I finally found a way into the basement where it all happened. Today, I tried to kill it. Tomorrow, I think I will run—

-

Your mother used to sing a lullaby, but you’ve forgotten how it goes. Something about the flowers in her garden. Samhain draws close; you’ll talk to her soon. Ask her how the lullaby goes. And ask for her gingerbread recipe. You can never get the spices right.

-

You’ve been treated well, despite the shackles. You still spit at that person when they visit—call them false, call them traitor. They smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “You’ll understand someday. This is for your own good.” And then they lock you away.

-

The General orders the warship to be moved into position. “Don’t you dare look away, Doctor. This is your finest creation. Surely you want to see if it works.” She has no choice but to watch as he activates the weapon, and cleaves the planet in two.

-

The muse tells you: be the verse rewritten, that rights the wrongs from previous drafts, notes falling flat. Before the chorus gives out—be the ending your song deserves.

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: whistpr / vss365 / vssDaily / SciFanSat / SciFiFri / vssHauntedHouse / vssParanormal / HorrorMicro / 2WordPrompt / flexvss / FromOneLine

[chatoyantbliss]

Something New

97 Something New Old habits die hard Old flames become anew Not quite admirable Or the dives we are used to The fire resigns, inadequate arrow Blowing across the horizon A heart is to be fallow Soon to be planted Anon to give rise Better one that has granted Beyond the big eyes A smart one has said be safe In the narrow Never go wide Unless you’re a sparrow Peace bestowed upon…

[poetshub]

Piano keys Played softly Life on Mars, To Hurt and Bittersweet Symphony The words Reminding us to stay Grounded Whilst Music and our love Defy #gravity #whistpr #Poetshub #poetry https://t.co/TL7uPFlcR2

[sangklp]

Billionaires gave away money, spiritualists devoted time and wisdom, Clarice could only offer origami doves. She gave them to the children as they left school. They would toss them over the bridge and watch them glide over the icy river, #uplifted by the winter air. #whistpr https://www.youtube.com/c/lifesang

[gphydeauthor]

From a prompt ‘wizard’ by #whistpr

[aman-qureshi]

#Whistpr #poem #poetry #vss #writing

Love #love

It’s all around

Crazy merry go round

Spin spin

Where will it land

Somewhere close

Maybe in the front yard

Where I saw it last

Of my crazy old home town

[meadowphillips]

Eli cries out as hir partner pinches hir nipple. "Please," ze beg, squirming against the ropes restraining their limbs.

"What are you even begging for?" hir partner, Alan, asks with an amused expression. He trails his fingers down, down, and scrapes his nails over hir hip.

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, November 20 - 26

My finger hovered over 'skip intro', past the warnings. One hour in, the video showed people collapsing, having danced themselves to death. The Lord of Dance—rumored to be an actual god—looked directly into the camera. “Bring me more people,” he cried.

-

The blood spread across the hardwood—impossible to scrub out of the grain, she thought, and of course she’d be the one to—“Clean it up,” the Duke snapped, disappearing behind the tapestry. She darkly wondered what he’d do if he had to clean up his own messes.

-

She suffers from hallucinations, the doctors said. Of course there’s no monsters—she must have scratched her own face. You must tell her it’s not real— * Not real, she whispers—as it drags her brother away. Not real, she screams—when it comes back for her.

-

Everything spoke to me as I read the room. Maddening pulses of—light color sound—past present future—suddenly focusing on the subject, his bloody entrance and exit. My eyes snapped shut, cutting me off from the vision. “I know where the killer went,” I said.

-

She woke up in a locked room. Scrawled across the wall: Do You Remember? She couldn’t even remember her own name. And yet—grasping at the edges of memory—the wallpaper looked familiar. And that stain— She had been in this room before. She had *died* in this room before.

-

“I have the weirdest craving,” Kyra said, staring at the veins on Don’s wrist. Her sense of smell was sharp tonight. So was her hearing. “Her fangs are coming in,” Jess muttered to Win. “We’ll have to kill her soon, if we can’t find the vamp who bit her.”

-

“I don’t understand. I’m back on time—why hasn’t winter ended?” Persephone asked. “Where is my mother?” “Demeter is in the park,” Hermes said, “feeding the pigeons and cursing anyone who litters. She’s really into the role this year—she’s forgotten that she’s a goddess.”

-

A witch parks her shitty rental car by the side of the road. On the edge of twilight, a form crawls out of the forest; it’s accompanied by moths, dripping river water, reeking of decay. A claw taps the car window. “About time,” the witch says, stubbing out her cigarette.

-

“We’re looking for an expert in lupine behavior,” said the man in black. The witch beamed. “Lovely flower. Perennial. Bit late for planting—” His partner snapped, “Not the bloody flower! We’re talking about werewolves!” “Oh. Well, you could have made that clearer.”

-

He escorted his lady fair through a dark winter wood. Roses bloomed on withered vines as she passed, and his notice made the scene fracture. “Don’t let it trouble you,” his lady fair said, “lest the dream collapse around us—Let us be together a while longer, my love.”

-

The behemoth came from space, the size of a city; crushed by gravity and its own weight. Its flesh took a century to rot, its bones bleached by the reddening sun. Strange flowers bloom along its jawbone and ribs; children play in its wide open maw.

-

His quest was clear: travel to alternate realities and find parallel forms of the dying queen. But in every timeline, the female in question is not a natural-born human, but a clone of his dimension’s queen, each carrying the same virus that will kill her.

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: FromOneLine / DarkMicro / vss365 / flexvss / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr / SciFiFri / SciFanSat

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, November 6 - 12

“Does it feel like coming home?” Cyd asked. Ava didn’t answer. The fortress rose from the promontory, dark towers piercing fair skies. Being born in hell does not make it home; plotting to unmake that hell stone by stone would not right past wrongs. But it was a start.

-

The house was built on a desolate moor; nowhere to run to, really. But when it all became too much (the bleeding walls, the shrieking in the attic), Paula ran into the fog…When the fog thinned, she faced the house. The front door wide open, welcoming her home.

-

Still torpid from the stasis pod, Kris didn’t register the alien standing at the control panel until it turned towards her. It possessed elongated limbs, skin that was not skin, a complete lack of face. It spoke to her in static, seeming frustrated when she didn’t reply.

-

I hadn't used this staircase before, nor visited the room it led to, but Father said I was finally old enough to lay eyes upon the family heirloom: a cursed mask, shattered into a dozen pieces. I unlocked the cabinet, and panicked—eleven pieces were missing.

-

Tara’s attempts to be syntonic were met with ridicule from her parents and teachers. They strapped her down, electrodes on her temples, subjecting her to subliminals for hours. After, she was “corrected”—slotting into her place in the Society like a puzzle piece.

-

You’re hypnotized by her ophidian eyes, her legato movement as she drapes herself over you. Desire and fear, sweet and sharp as champagne sliding down your throat, down your spine. A poisonous kiss—heart-stopping, overwhelming— You almost wish you were made of stone.

-

I hear a dissonant tune on the night wind—and watch the village children go, half-dancing, half-marching, into the woods. I’d warned them, about payment due, but no one listens to the old hermit. I pick up my knives—one silver, one iron—and go to settle with the Piper.

-

“Such tenuous bonds, so quickly severed. One little lie, and the quest falls apart. I wonder if your little band cared about ending the war at all— “You seem surprised. Of course it was me—not that they’ll believe you now. After all, you’ve been keeping secrets, too.”

-

Then he saw why the Duke’s canines had stopped chasing him: Framed by the forest was a girl, wrapped in a direwolf pelt. She had eyes the color of the moon and a snarling smile. “Found you,” she said. He felt his magic rise in response to her own wild power.

-

Her brother found a milk crate of dusty shellac records; all blank covers, no labels. It was normal big band music at first, but then: “Marie, Davis—do not play the B-Side, don’t listen—” Their dead grandmother’s voice dissolved into static, and the lights flickered.

-

In the Capital, the peace talks were interrupted by a distress call from the outer sector: The opposing factions had been forced to call a truce, due to the sudden invasion of blood-sucking humanoids hailing from an unexplored planet known as Gaia.

-

Every autumn they walk by the forest to catch sight of the birdmad girl: leaves and feathers in her hair, stealing anything with a bit of shine to it. She’ll sing and preen if she catches sight of you—but get too close and she’ll claw and screech.

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: vss365 / FromOneLine / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr / vssDaily / SciFiFri / SciFanSat / 2WordPrompt / WeirdMicro

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, October 23 - 29

As you drift through twisting tunnels, the hive ignores you. Favored by their Queen, you are above reproach—for now. You’ve seen what happens to those She grows bored of. You must find a way out—before some sycophant buries the not-so-proverbial knife in your back.

-

Kisa had a pretty face and humble origins. Ennobled by the King, she was forced to marry his brother, who did not care for her. There was an illicit affair, a bastard child—a curse invoked. Kisa fled the kingdom, her bloodline doomed to never rest, to never find home.

-

They found the maiden hidden in the garden, beneath some fronds; hair like starlight, galaxies in her eyes. “Should we kill her?” one soldier asked. “The oracle said she’ll cause all sorts of problems…” The captain considered; she was just a child. “Not yet.”

-

Your quest is to find the children of the gods. Nigh impossible—surely they’re all in hiding by now. Or so you thought, until you wander into a tavern and find a youth with skin of literal rock, knocking back shots of molten gold—you guess even fools get lucky.

-

The beetle had a thousand eyes blinking away, even as it slept. It was the size of a planet. When it wakes, and all the eyes shut, and its wings open, it will destroy worlds. It speaks, as it dreams. Its voice, its monstrous language…the sound haunts me still.

-

Witches dance around their cauldron; something claws its way up between the gravestones. The werewolves singing to the full moon, the vampires knocking to come in, the ghosts rattling about in the attic— You sleep soundly, on this lovely Halloween night.

-

After hours of torture, her indomitable spirit did not waver or break. What reason did she have to fear death—she, a daughter of kings, who had descended into the Underworld, bargained with the Lord of the Dead, and returned whole and hale, to a life of grief and joy?

-

Clara peeked under the brim of her hat—the Duke was here. Most likely still holding a grudge (how unchivalrous). Then again, she had left him broke (and naked) in Prague. The memory made her smile. She’d gone too far, tying him to the bed—but she didn’t regret any of it.

-

I saw you dressed in tangerine, grinning like the devil. Your rivals sprawled out in their finery at the seaside picnic, looking lovely until you dumped rotten fish on them all—summoning the flock. That seagull really needs to stop pecking at Lady Clementine…

-

Desmond had warned her of traitors in their midst—she never dreamed he was speaking of himself. All hope shattered as he twisted the dagger deeper. “You were never going to win, love,” he said, further perverting the moment with a kiss. “This is a mercy, I swear.”

-

A charcoal black cat was scrawled in the corner of the empty vault—signature of a master thief, went by the handle Cat’s Eye. They only targeted the highly affluent Albrecht family. Rumor was they were an asset the family had silenced—returned as a ghost.

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: vss365 / vssMagic / FromOneLine / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr / WeirdMicro 

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, October 16 - 22

A shallow grave had been dug by the crossroads. Yet another woman, hanged as a witch; easy enough to unearth on a half-moon night. From dead lips, Agatha pulled a prize: an angry soul crystallized, good for all sorts of spells. She added a red bead to the jar.

-

In the middle of a busy market, you are seized by a vision: an army, a fortress, an unholy inferno cracking the mountain in two— Crashing out of the horror, you smell sulphur. A stranger stares at you, eyes reflecting the same flames.

-

They sacrificed cities—continents—all to open the door between worlds, to wake up the old gods. And they failed. And they failed. To absolve the enormity of their crimes, they had to become gods themselves—burying their histories so deep only the dead know the truth…

-

To stir up a storm, gather: the white wing from an albatross, a whistled-up wind, bones from a seaside gallows, a dash of malicious intent measured out in a shell, foam from the closest beach. Move away from the water, or you might be swept away…

-

In the Underground, reality twists deliciously, and you can’t trust your eyes. It’s a place where gossamer cuts the unsuspecting, glamored romantic. She was different; she went in with a devil’s smile and a thief’s heart, and came out of the thorns unscathed.

-

A letter arrived, written in a familiar hand. Go to where the bodies are buried, it read. I broke into Darkhart Manor after sunset, making my way down the dark, dusty corridors. A familiar voice was singing in your old bedroom—you, a dead man, ruthlessly alive.

-

Woe to the hapless traveller: took the wrong advice, followed the wrong path, strayed down into infinite darkness. And here we will keep her, for a long, long time— We may—eventually, tectonically—grow bored of her. She will not be the same, when she leaves.

-

You tried to play it cool, following her into the woods, but you’re jumpy. “I feel like we’re being watched,” you admit. She laughs, before looking you dead in the eye and saying, “Of course they’re watching us. And now that you’ve noticed, we’re probably screwed.”

-

Inside a circle of salt water and white-petaled flowers, he cast a spell to draw the moon down. It didn’t work. It never worked. All it earned him was dreams of drowning, and eyes stained silver, and distrustful looks from sailors and werewolves.

-

Even with vengeance in his heart, the sorcerer still took precautions to protect his treasures, siphoning his power into the gargoyles atop his fortress. His three daughters grew up guarded by these stone beasts, always looking west for their father’s return.

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: vss365 / WeirdMicro / flexvss / vssMagic / FromOneLine / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr / vssDaily

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, October 9 - 15

“This night will end when you tell me you love me,” the sorcerer declared. How unfortunate—he cast an ironclad spell on a princess already cursed with the inability to lie. Twenty years pass. Both are still trapped in that garden, ageless, caught in an endless midnight.

-

I wrote my name in the dust to prove I was here. I felt my time counting down—ghosts can only haunt a place for so long. Dawn will evict me from this house, leaving me in the unknown light. I waited, staring out at the night, and the night stared back at me.

-

When you stumble out of the nightmare, you can’t remember your own name. For a moment, you are Nobody. You smell like monsters and can’t quite convince yourself that it’s not real—you’re out, you’re safe, just look at your hands—flesh sloughing off to expose bare bone—

-

Our first mistake was leaving the house; the second, going to the graveyard without proper protection. The witches’ grimoire was buried beneath the northern stone cross. The second we dug it up, we were betrayed—the Brothers surrounded us.

-

“I spy with my little eye…a witch’s eye! There—catch it!” There followed utter chaos, near-misses of flyswatters and bug-nets—all to catch a dead man’s eye, fluttering about on enchanted wings. And elsewhere, the witch herself, watching and cackling at their antics.

-

The seraphim think they are safe—but those who’ve fallen before are drawn to the fresh sulphur scent, to the celestial power not yet faded from heaven-glazed feathers. They cannibalize their brothers’ wings, underscore their fall from grace with kin’s blood.

-

I’m walking with the one I love, and I am so happy. The bridge we’re on crumbles behind us, but somehow it doesn’t matter…until the one I love says, “How did you get here?” and pushes me off— I jolt awake, alone in bed. Something hammers at the door. It’s time to run.

-

Lisel is haunted, attracting ghosts like moths to a flame. She can’t keep them out. They come in the night, turning her dreams to nightmares, whispering—how they died, who they left behind—tell him I loved him—kill her for me—find my baby—bury me, bury me, bury me—

-

Their teacher didn’t waste any time. “I know you’re scared, he said, in a tone that was almost compassionate. Then he sneered. “Not nearly scared enough. Make one mistake, and the Creature will rend you limb from limb. Watch, listen, and learn—or die.”

-

The stones beneath the willow tree are full of words. Put one to your ear like a seashell, it will whisper a tale or two—for a bit of coin or a bit of blood. Some of those stories are true and some are false—but isn’t that the way of the world?

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: vss365 / FromOneLine / vssParanormal / vssHauntedHouse / WeirdMicro / whistpr / SciFanSat / SciFiFri / vssDaily

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, October 2 - 8

The power going out. Something shattering upstairs. The door creaking open on its own. The shiver down your spine— Someone is crying, down in the basement. Someone is laughing, in the next room. Someone is breathing down your neck—but weren’t you alone in the house?

-

He thought it was a trick of the light; he’d never seen Mary in short sleeves before. But no, her tattoos were moving—beautifully inked butterflies fluttered up her arms, where roses wilted and bloomed in time with her pulse. “How does your garden grow,” he murmured.

-

October breezes in, skirts rustling like fallen leaves. She leaves frost on the windows. And yet, she is generous, as the last of the harvest is gathered. Her touch, the final warmth on your face as summer unravels. She is kinder than the sisters who follow her.

-

The last dollar in my pocket goes to the three-eyed woman on the corner of Lark and Kestle. Rumor has it, she can see how you’ll die. Visibly confused, she says she can’t see my death (and no refunds). I walk away, relieved. This means the spell is still working.

-

Father warned her: Do not enter the library. So of course she slipped in, well past midnight. The books were dusty and…whispering? When she pulled one off the shelf, a shock went through her—the book fell open, releasing all the souls trapped inside.

-

They sent her away to a distant relative, to a manor house on the moor. The timing was bad—every eighty years, before the frost, the hobgoblins and such fae folk have a grand ball under the moon—and the Goblin King takes a bride. Sweet Jenny, she was just his type—

-

You should always go to the Badger before you set out on a quest. Badgers hear all the gossip of the world. Take a nice cake, and be very polite. After many cups of tea, and a slew of tales, you might hear ol’ Stripey-Eyes tell of things that have not yet occurred.

-

Adam was looking forward to the Double Creature Feature at the abandoned warehouse—at least until he realized it was being put on by the local vampire coven, looking for some easy meals. They weren’t happy to see him either. “No werewolves,” the girl at the door hissed.

-

Whenever Anne couldn’t find her sister, she checked the crawl space. Becky liked being weird in there, with all the spiders. (Anne hated spiders, and swore Becky put them in her bed.) Tonight, Becky wasn’t there; in the far corner was a white mass, like a giant cocoon…

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: vss365 / FromOneLine / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, September 18 - 24

When their impending doom stared them in the face, the townsfolk called for a saviour—never realizing they had burned her as a witch the winter before. So for better or worse, the town was swept away by the storm and tides. And perhaps that is some small justice done.

-

The exit music started playing, but this wasn’t the ending she wanted— She told the Custodian as much, and they replied, “You have one do-over, but are you sure? This might be the only happy ending you get.” With no hesitation, she hit restart.

-

Beneath the floorboard, a child’s cwtch, containing: a bell on a red ribbon, a small teddy bear, assorted stones and shells, a broken toy car, a crumbling snakeskin. Lastly, a journal written in messy cursive, starting: I found a magic door in the big pine tree stump…

-

A dark ball of fur and feathers popped out of the hedge; Addie shrieked, grabbing a fallen branch as an improvised weapon while the thing squawked and chirped. Then she froze, as it blinked up at her with gold eyes. It was a griffon chick, no more than a week hatched.

-

After weeks of asking what was wrong and getting no response, your best friend told you to write it out. That was the loophole to the spell your mother cast on you—she only censored your spoken words. So you wrote it all down: all of her crimes in black and white.

-

“The Chosen One is dead,” the old man declares. “He has a name!” cries the lover. “Had a name,” the rival mutters. The old man asks the heartbroken lover, “Would you go the Underworld to bring him back? Would you take his place to save him—and the rest of the world?”

-

Rumor has it our family is cursed. I didn’t believe it until the ghosts of the manor told my twin and I to go to the basement, and put on the shackles there. To our horror, as the full moon began to rise, the silver chains began to burn against our skin.

-

We knew they were coming; the thunderstorm was just a distraction. When the electricity went out, and the dark settled in, there came a terrible knocking—not at the front door—it was coming from the mirrors.

-

On the autumn equinox, a stranger came to town. A rather draconic fellow: gold eyes, gold rings, wearing a scaly red coat—inquiring about treasure. Ada saw him light his pipe with a puff of fiery breath. He gave her a wink, and went on his way.

-

You have been walking for a long time, following the black flutter of crows’ wings. They lead you to the cemetery gates, down a muddy lane, finally landing on a tombstone with your name on it. This is not the first time they’ve led you here.

-

When the harvest starts, your sister falls ill. “Do you remember the scarecrow with the twisted grin?” she asks, burning with fever. Your parents don’t understand. You do. That thing took Adrian away last year, and a new scarecrow has appeared in the fields…

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: whistpr / vss365 / vssDaily / vssHauntedHouse / WeirdMicro / GothicMicro / 2WordPrompt / vssMagic / vssNature / flexvss

[abstracthappiness]

microfiction, September 11 - 17

The seer has blood on her teeth. Sometimes warlords don’t want to hear the truth. She grins and delivers the prophecy a second time, word for word, altering nothing. Her fate is sealed, but so is his.

-

Finally, it stopped, and we emerged to survey the damage. Gram had left the proper offerings before we went into the bunker, and some small god had been happy to spare us. This time the wind screamed for five days; it took our neighbours to the north and east.

-

When summer swells, he says he’ll never come back. Yet as the seasons chill, he’s drawn to the lambent warmth of her cabin. He calls her a witch, she calls him a fool, they hold each other close. He stays the winter; they’ll do this dance again in the spring.

-

Caught in her delirious visions, she finds a journal. It is written in an unfamiliar hand, the ink still wet. When she comes back to herself, the journal remains—the pages blank. But there is black ink on her fingers. And a voice, whispering in her ear.

-

Ever since we moved into this house, when I look in a mirror, a dark shape appears behind me. Stranger still: as my own reflection grows more blurry, this wraith draws closer, becoming more distinct. Today, I feel her breath against my neck.

-

You dream of a pale horse for weeks. It cuts through the town, riderless, halting at your garden gate. You wake up feeling empty; you’ve started remembering who you were. You’ve been alone for a long time. You take up your scythe. The flowers wither as you leave.

-

They came from the east, wearing holy masks, their hands painted red. They were all friendly enough, but Gram marked how the crows followed them like pets, and told us to pack our things. We fled the village that night; heard of the slaughter one moon cycle later.

-

The Pumpkin Spice Mantle comes from unknown origins, circa the late 18th century, but is proudly displayed in the Museum of Magical Curiosities. It’s been proven to turn the wearer invisible, leaving behind only the scent of cinnamon.

-

The stars called her Chosen, but when she reached for the Light, her hands turned black. Her family hid away this darkness, ashamed of the daughter who could speak to shadows. But the king’s champion came for her eventually—calling her the hero who would save them all.

-

Great-grandmother Dvornik fled the country of her birth, losing everything but her thick accent. The quilt she made as a new mother hangs on the wall. In the tiny stitches, a history unfurls, a family tree grows—she even predicted your birth. It still smells of smoke.

-

“Go outside and play,” your mother said. To appease her, you abandon your book, rake up some leaves, and jump in the pile. And then you fall, through dark earth, through roots, through crystal tunnels. Something calls to you from below. Strange things wait upon landing.

-

When the entrance was breached, they found nothing in the church but bare stone and stained glass and an old woman, muttering her prophecy like a prayer, like a curse: When two moons rise, red as blood—the next incarnation of the God Mage will come forth…

//

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: whistpr / vss365 / FromOneLine / vssNature / vssDaily / vssHauntedHouse / vssParanormal / WeirdMicro / 2WordPrompt / vssMagic