She walked in the dark like any other woman. Quiet, unassuming and hurrying as though followed. She kept her head down and her fists clenched in her pockets. She walked like she was in danger.
She was not in danger.
If anyone had stopped her, if anyone had even dared look her in the eye as she darted passed they would have seen the soft glow of her silver eyes stare back. The cold chill of death would have crawled up their spine, spikes of dread scuttling over their skin. The scent of plague and decay would have filled their senses until they got home, afraid and unable to sleep.
She could have walked through the night as its queen but she did not because she was tired.
Her feet pounded the pavement, steps fast until she reached her destination. The door opened at her softly worded command and she was greeted by a being of pure gold.
“You seem down, dearest.”
“I am weary, indeed.” There was a soft press of lips to her cheek, inhaling the scent of fire and heat and destruction. She felt calmer already.
“Nothing a small drink wouldn’t fix.” Her coat was taken by a huddled figure, scampering away on mortally afraid legs.
The two beings entered the main room of the house, a feast ready and waiting. Overstuffed dishes of succulent meats and glistening vegetables. Sickly sweet desserts and juice-laden fruits piled precariously high in the centre, a display of sickening excess that brought a smile to pale lips. In the very centre, over the gluttonous display, hung a man. He had shrieked and screamed until his voice was raw and now he only whimpered as blood dripped slowly from a tap shoved crudely into his side.
“Drink, my love?”
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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