Writing Challenge

[DarkWarrioress]

Some time back Britwitch use to post pictures for us to write something about it. It doesn't matter what, just write what your heart urges you to. There is no judgement or criticism. Just, hopefully inspiration. So, for this week, here are your two pictures. Pick one or both. Give your piece a name and just write. Enjoy!

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[rlaflamme]

Even in the coldest of climates the maiden wanders to find him. Where has he gone? Why has he not returned? The night's grow colder, darker as the despair takes her.

 

[Destiny]

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She stood on the dune, the sun had baked all day. The warmth of the sand beneath her feet was long gone as the moon rose before her and lead her the way. She had heard the whispered words, they said to come and she would be within the light of darkness. The breeze that caressed her skin brought goosebumps along her arms and still she searched. She had been walking for miles and the topped Dune was the highest she had reached so far. As she stood before the light, his hand reached out and she heard his voice. "Come be mine and I will show you the love of the world.

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[DarkWarrioress]

​

She was soundly sleeping when he got home. He was tired. It had been a long night. Charity events usually were. The food was not the greatest. The drinks were good, however. He had talked and drank and talked some more. He thought the night would never end. On his way out of the event, he untied his tie as he got into his car. Without forethought, he reached out and turned on the car radio. Soothing music washed over him and he found himself sinking into his seat. It was a short ride home.

She had left a livingroom light on. It cast a soft glow over the room. He took a deep relaxing breath and poured himself a drink and sat down on one of their couches and relaxed back. With one hand, he expertly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white dress shirt. His head lounged back, resting on the back of the couch. He had wished she had come with him. It would have made the night fly by but unfortunately, she had her own obligations to see to.

He didn’t know what time it was and didn’t want to know. He was all too aware of the woman warming his bed. Finishing his drink, he set the empty glass on the table in front of him and removed his shoes. Taking them in hand, he moved silently down the hall their bedroom. She had left one of the bedside table lamps on. Maybe he had made a soft sound. Maybe his clothes rustled. Whatever it was, woke her. She opened sleep eyes in his direction. A soft smile of invitation in her eyes. He started to shed his civility as well as his clothes.

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[DarkWarrioress]

​

She was searching for something. Some part of her soul? Wisdom? Her Order had sent her into the white sands for a reason. Having traveled for days with limited water and little food, she came to the peak of a dune and looked out. There, the skies had parted slightly and light came shining through as if some message from the Divine was trying to make itself known.

She felt lost and alone. For all she knew, she was. Before her was an endless sea of white sand. Not one wisp of greenery anywhere. She felt so small to everything around her, it almost brought her to her knees. It was only the force of her belief in herself that she didn’t buckle.

As the light continued to envelop her, somewhere, out in the shadow of the dunes, a pair of eyes watched the scene before them and wondered.

What was she doing out here all alone? What was she searching for? Somehow, he knew it was answers to some unspoken, unknown questions. Had she found what she came searching for? Or was she still unsated?

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

"See the light..."

The echo of a moment, so very long ago, resounding in her ears as a whisper of wind kicked up the sand, sending it up into her eyes. For a moment panic overtook her, the loss of the light as her eyes closed setting her heart racing. But that moment passed as she set her gaze skyward, saw the clear, beautiful beacon from beyond the horizon, guiding her to him. Ragged breathing slowed, until she drew a single deep breath, released as a sigh against the chill, night air. Then once more, her bare feet stepped across sand, leaving behind her a trail that was quietly blown away, forever lost to those who might follow.

"... my love..."

She couldn't remember his face anymore. It had been too many long, lonely years without his warmth against her side, his voice in her ears, the smell of his cologne. In truth she could hardly picture him at all, save that last night. A handsome suit, an cocktail gown, a tie undone, a strapped slipped from a shoulder... and then nothing. Nothing but the fading echo of his final words to her, as she cried, as she'd begged for just a few moments more. As they'd taken him away, to someplace far beyond her reach.

"... and know..."

She remembered the moment she'd first seen it, the moment she'd first known. No one else seemed to notice, no one else could understand. But she did, knew the light was him, somehow, calling to her, guiding her to his side once more. It had to be, for without him, how could she continue? What hope existed without him? Why else would he show her that light, but for her to follow it always, seek him always, until all faded and only they two remained. So she had resolved to travel, across desert sands, under burning sun and freezing night, until she fell into his arms once more...

"...I will always..."

It went unnoticed as it slipped from her hands, the ring that bore his name, his words inscribed upon it. It went unnoticed as it landed in the sand, her gaze so fixed upon the light that nothing else mattered any longer. It was buried in scant seconds, the words upon it forgotten in her sorrow and despair, never to return save for the vain hope of a man so long departed. The hope that she would let his loss go, find love and joy in her own life, without grief taking everything from her. That she might live when he could not, and treasure what memories they had, rather than long for what had been.

"... watch over you."

The echo of a moment, so long ago. Of a time, of a man, she so desperately clung to. A woman, stumbling through the sand, ever onward until she found her love once more.

 

[HornyIsh69]

It was Midnight as the sands would change from the normal everyday average brown color any saw during the waning day hours to a mystical white. As white as the maiden and her fair white skin and her silky white hair. She was traveling the silk road this far evening as it was a crisp chilly moonlit night, making her rounds through Arabia, she couldn't help wondering why the sands only turn white around this time of night, she kept trekking through Arabia to make it home to her beloved Middle Europe, along the coast of the Eurasian Peninsula.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

I should mention that a new writing challenge will go up this coming Wednesday and every Wednesday after that. This will allow for others to write on the current ones if they want to.

 

[HornyIsh69]

I should mention that a new writing challenge will go up this coming Wednesday and every Wednesday after that. This will allow for others to write on the current ones if they want to.

I'm down for it. This is actually fun.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

My impatience is outmatched only by my enjoyment of the challenge, Lady of Mists.

But I shall wait eagerly, here in my shadows.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Here we go, guys and gals. This week's Challenge:






I can't wait to see what you all come up with. Have fun!​

 

[HornyIsh69]

The young woman walked into the mansion that a murder took place at. Her previous master was killed by a business rival. She saw his watch he loved to carry. Still drenched in his blood that was fresh. Even though it was a Master and Slave love, Nora couldn't help but to weep when she saw the watch. Was it normal for her to miss him, or was she upset that he was a cruel master but deep down inside she loved him deeply?

 

[siobhancan99]

I never should have taken the case. Now here I am, gutshot, lying in this damn alley hoping some good samaritan comes by, staring at the watch my uncle left me, watching the seconds run out. But you know how it is...

Just yesterday she blew into my office like a Satchmo solo, all frenetic energy and filling the room with her presence. I looked up through bleary eyes (It was an ungodly hour, 10 am or so...) and without the fortification of my first belt of scotch. She had gams that went all the way up to a sharp crimson suit. The fur stole said money, and the silk turban framing the face of a fallen angel said more. Not many folks in this Hoovertown had that kind of cash. Hell... none of them did.

"You're smaller than I expected Mr. Fahey."

I didn't correct her. While I was petite enough not to have to, I went to the trouble of binding my Décolletage for a reason, and the second-hand suit I was wearing swallowed me like I was Jonah. "Well then don't ask me to get nothing off a high shelf, lady, and we're probably good."

Her eyes had a glimmer of recognition at the voice, but she was classy. Didn't say nothin and sat herself down. "I'm in big trouble..." she paused, waiting for me to say "Sir or Ma'am" no doubt but I didn't give her the satisfaction. "you're my only hope"

"Hope costs 5 dollars a day, plus expenses. 10 if there's gonna be shooting." I was bluffing. A girl in my position hadn't made 5 dollars a day since the war. Hell... there weren't any girls in my position near as I knew. But I could smell this dame had money and trouble and I wasn't sure which she had more of. She peeled two Grover Cleveland's off a stack of newer Jacksons. Old money. Old money meant big problems. "There's four days worth."

Oh yeah. Big problems. I'm a sucker for a dame in trouble though, and the rent was late so I tucked it away "Well. You got yourself a problem solver."

(small note, Grover Cleveland used to be on the 20 before 1928)

 

[RainingHeat]

"Please..."

The word hung there, in the dark.

"Please"

A polite word. Taught to children. Be polite. Use please and thank you. Thank you was another word she would be using soon. That much she knew. But right now, the only word she could utter was... "please"

"Please" could she have the key back...

She would never do it again. She would never dream of leaving that room, let alone the house, again. She would stay in the darkness. She would beg permission.

"Please"...

He had given her the key as a show of trust. It had taken a long time. A very long time. At first, she had been chained. For so long, she had been chained. She had begged then too, but it did no good. Did he even hear her? Her plaintive begging to be free'd. She would never tell anyone. Just let her go.

"Please"

She had used that word then too.

He never answered. He heard her begging screams of pain and pleasure. Heard the "slap" of leather to skin as the belt, and then the whip, struck home. Heard her screams. Heard her sobs. Her her beg, plead. Heard her moans of despair, or was it want, need, as he slid himself deep within the tightness of her body. Heard the wet sound of skin on skin, moving, caressing. Heard the depths of her breath, even as he tightened his hands about her throat, silencing her for a moment or two. Heard the gasps as she takes in life again in deep harsh breaths. Heard her crying for him to stop.

"Please"...

That had been so long ago, she could not even remember how long now. It felt like a lifetime ago, she quietly thought to herself. She had worked so hard to get to this point, the point where he gave her the key...

The key to her room. The key to the home.

It had been a test. She knew that now, as she lay on the cold floor, in the darkness. It had been a test, and she had failed. Gone was the trust. Gone was her clothing. Gone was the light. Gone was the wind in her hair, the feel of grass at her feet.. Gone was any idea that she would ever be... free...

"Please..."

Gone was any hope that he would ever trust her again. Gone was the key about her throat on a delicate golden chain. In it's place, something much more simple. The black leather of his belt. Tight. Constricting.

"Please"

The belt tightened, his breathing deepened...

"Please what" came his growl...

"Please.... Master... " would be her only response.

The golden key fell from his hands to drop at his feet... and he stepped toward her......

 

[Otto26]

"Your feet, Mr. Deathrage," the doctor complained. Again.

Cole sighed and dropped his boots down to the floor. The change in posture made it more difficult to relax on the threadbare and barely cushioned bench. Impossible, in fact. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he sat fully upright and reset his hat so that it was no longer covering his eyes.

"This can't wait 'til we get to Budapest, doc?"

"Indeed, no," the precise little man replied as he expanded his work into the space Cole's feet had vacated. "My work indicates that the samples are, in some ways, time sensitive; the serums morphand fade with the passage of time. Then there is the possibility that the authorities will confiscate my samples and equipment when we reach the city. No, this must be done now."

Cole didn't bother to sigh. The two months he'd spent in the service of Lady Simmons had taught him a few things. Germane to the moment were: Everything bent to the needs of her ladyship's project and, right now, that meant letting the doctor work. Absent a direct order from her ladyship the fussy little eccentric was going keep working on his research until forced to stop. Which meant that Cole Deathrage was going to have to go without sleep on the long, slow ride out of Transylvania. All the slower because they were forced to take the local train. Which stopped at every little station.

"Least you ain't gotta worry about the train moving right now," he commented. The offhand pleasantry struck a chord and he took a look at the station out the window of the car. "In fact, we been stopped for a fair time," he said in a puzzled tone. The night was late and the station was still too empty and the train had been stopped for too long.

"Git yer gun, doc," he quietly ordered, his slow drawl becoming more pronounced in the stress of the moment. He drew his revolver and advanced on the door, knowing that when he opened it all hell was going to break loose for Saturday. Except the door burst inward, knocked off its hinges, and slammed into him, knocking him back and prone. There was a quiet rush as a body entered behind the door and Cole emptied his revolver into the door. Screaming from the other side of it told him the doctor's little bullets had worked. The creature was hurt, if not yet destroyed.

A smell like burning meat caught his attention as he pushed the door aside and he saw the creature clawing at a bubbling, smoking face.

"Acid works nicely," the doctor observed just before a clawed hand slashed his throat open, spraying blood across the compartment. Another of the creatures had entered the space and he could see two more in the hallway. Cole's mind did the quick tactical arithmetic and concluded that he'd lost this fight. The gunfire from the compartment next door simply reinforced his conclusion.

"Well, hell," commented. He hadn't expected to die here, but it was as good a place as any and a clean death was better than what these creatures had in mind for him. And for the rest of them. He clawed the small explosive device out his coat, pulled the auto-lighter the clever, dead doctor had fabricated for him and tossed it into the hallway of the train. The survival instinct that had kept him alive for so many years automatically pulled the door down on top of him as the world went white.

Smoke filled his lungs and his eyes and he furiously kicked the remains of the door off his aching body. The compartment was open to the sky and smoldering heavily, not quite ready to burst into a full conflagration. He looked for his revolver, hands reaching out to grasp it like a lifeline. Empty. He remembered it was empty and turned it in his hand, ready to use it like a club. The doctor was dead and it looked like he'd killed the creatures. Stumbling to his feet he staggered into the hallway and over to the next compartment. The damage wasn't as bad here but the scene was worse. Radigan had been gutted and his entrails spilled out and onto the floor. There was no sign Lady Simmons. Which meant they'd taken her.

Radigan lifted a hand toward him and Cole was horrified to realize the man was still alive. He was trying to say something, but Cole couldn't hear a thing, might never hear anything ever again. But he didn't have to hear. He knew the man. He took the hand and nodded his head.

"I'll go get her, Radigan. Don't you fret none."

The butler could no more hear Cole than Cole could hear him, but he seemed to understand. A faint smile teased at his mouth and then he went slack as the last of his life ebbed out of him. Cole looked around the compartment for anything useful and his eyes spotted the butler's blood-soaked watch. Carefully, he retrieved it, closed it, and put it into Radigan's hand. "Save me spot close to the fire," he instructed the corpse and walked out of the compartment and off the train. He'd need to steal a horse. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Just like old times.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

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The key hung, spun into the thread of Life by one of the Sisters, Clotho. Such was her destiny to be “The Spinner”. At birth, a new thread was spun and added to her spindle. Lachesis, the “Drawer of Lots”, her destiny was to measure each thread. That brings us to the last sister, Atropos, “The Unturning”, she cut each thread at the appointed length, setting a person’s death. They were also known as The Moirai. The only person who could intervene, was the highest god, Zeus.


It was Zeus who came to Clotho and bid her to spin the key into the web of Life. Clotho did as she was bid. Whose life it would belong to, even she did not know. It wasn’t her business to know. When it came time for Lachesis to measure another length of thread she came to the key, looked upon it, then cut its length. The key was no concern of hers. Each thread was wound and hung from the ceiling of their work room. Pieces were interlaced with others. Some, just merely hung there. All were awaiting Atropos’ scissors. Among the threads, hung the key, tied to a certain thread, intricately made and shining. A key, hanging on a destined thread for someone and chosen by Zeus, the king of the gods.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

He took his pocket watch out of his pocket and opened it as he rushed along. He was running late. He had promised her he would stop at the store and pick her up some ice cream for dessert tonight. Her favorite kind. Pecans and Pralines. His watch was closed and put back into his waistcoat pocket. The door to the store tinkled as he opened it and quickly found the ice cream he wanted. The wait in line took a bit and he was getting more impatient than ever. On his way out, all he could think about was getting home to his wife. Pulling his pocket watch from his vest pocket, he stepped off the curb.

The world seemed to come to move in slow motion. The man stepping off the curb to cross the street. The car that careened around the corner. The yells of people nearby. The sound of an object being hit at high speed. The screams. The chaos that follows as a crowd surrounds the bloody, mangled body lying in the street. Blood that silently poured free. A lone object that flew out of the man’s hand, found several feet away. A bloody pocket watch.

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[WeaverofWorlds]

The things one did for love.

He coughed as the blood pooled in his mouth, across his shirt. That tended to happen when a man was filled with bullet holes, certainly more than any normal man. But then, he'd never been accused of being normal, or even vaguely irregular. Instead, he was the creepy one, the man with the eyes, that shifty fellow, the list went on. But it had suited him just fine, all things considered. The only people who were desperate enough to come to him were those who truly needed him, and anyone else could find their way to one of the two-bit charlatans that flocked to Main Street. That left him, and the handful of others like him, to ply the true Craft in the safety of the hidden places. A shame that Craft did nothing to keep the gangs and gunmen of the back alleys off your back.

Another cough brought thoughts back where they were needed. The chill spreading up and out from his chest, leaving him shivering violently. The warmth of the blood pooling beneath his cooling corpse. His killers were striding closer, though he could see their movements beginning to slow as his perception of time crept to a crawl. A watch, the Watch, sitting just out of reach, numbing fingers brushing against the blood-stained metal of it. It lay open, and he could see the hands, paused at the moment of his True Death, knowing when the Reaper would come calling for the final time.

Damn, he'd almost made it this time.

He heard Her long before he saw her. So it always was, She liked to announce Her presence, ease the dead and dying into what was coming. A haunting melody, that seemed to suck the color from the room and leave everything so glaringly monotone. Like death was, She'd told him, when he'd worked up the courage to ask. Unwanted and uncaring of the life a man had lived before. But haunting as the melody was, it was comforting too, somehow so filled with melancholy that it made one almost want to pity the woman who stepped into his view, seeming to materialize from out of nowhere. She was slight of build, a slip of a thing really, Her eyes pools of liquid black marred only by a fragment of a light within them. A black suit hugged Her frame, contrasting harshly against the unnatural paleness of Her skin and matching the raven black of Her hair. He'd asked on another occasion why She wore a suit instead of the robes She so often was painted with. She smiled at him and said She was simply keeping with the times, and that robes were so very out of fashion.

This time though, as She stepped closer and those pools of black regarded him, She was frowning. It was hard to read the expressions on Her face, even at the best of times, but he'd gotten good enough that he could see Her annoyance.

"Must you always die at the most inconvenient times? I'm on a schedule you know, and you are hardly the only soul I have to collect."

He tried to reply, but his tongue refused to cooperate, and all he managed was a blood filled cough. Far from what might be expected, She reacted as She always did, continuing to speak as if he'd said nothing at all, and hadn't even tried. He was used to that, more often than not their meetings left him speechless in more ways than one.

"And honestly, how is it you find yourself in such difficult situations? It should be easy to avoid such things, and I know you've a brain in that head of yours. How else would you have managed to get as far as you have, master the Craft far beyond what mortals should be capable of? But no, you must always make my life so very difficult."

She knelt then, taking up the watch and cradling it in the palm of Her hand. She gazed down at it for a long moment, Her expression conveying nothing at all, before She slipped it into his waiting hand.

"Best keep that with you, lover boy. Without it, you might die the True Death, and I really would have to take you with me. And we both know your time won't come anytime soon. Until then, I'll wait for you, as I always have. As I always will."

Warmth surged through his limbs, his heart began to beat once more. But he could hear the melancholy of Her tuneless melody, resounding in his ears, even as She faded from view, the ghostly brush of Her fingers along his cheek the last sign of her presence. The two men, jerked back in surprise as they watching him cough back to life, and one had the presence of mind to bring his revolver to bear. A spat word, loaded with power, sent both screaming into Her embrace, a pang of something he didn't care to name shooting like lightning through his heart. He dragged himself to his feet instead, snapped the Watch closed and slipped it into a pocket. A deep, rattling breath, a moment to trace the memory of Her into his mind once more, then he was back to the task at hand.

The Lich of New York was moving a moment later, pushing deeper into gang territory. There was much more work to be done, and more besides before he could let his life end and go to Her side. Best he get to it, and if he was likely, he'd get a few more visits before the sun rose in the morning.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Here it is people, your new challenge for the week!
Enjoy.






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[WeaverofWorlds]

The Rock.

A lonely little hut, sat upon a rock that itself sat among the vast ocean. There were few who even knew it existed, fewer still who knew where to find it. Yet for all its secrecy, it was hardly that impressive, some even claimed it was understated and unworthy. How little the nay sayer knew of deeper meanings and hidden places. How little they all knew of the deeper world.

He was always there, when he was needed. He was also never there when he was wanted. The King of the Ocean was what they called him, despite his protests to the contrary. He'd say he deserved no title, yet that would only have them lavish it ever stronger upon him. He'd long since given up trying, for what use was preaching to those who would not listen. Admonish them all he could, only to have them come back stronger singing his praises to the Ocean beyond. So he let them keep their illusion of understanding, their belief that they knew what he was, and gave them empty platitudes and worthless charms to guide their every step. And when someone did come calling, someone who had need of him, he would be ready, to give insight to the deeper things.

---------------

She came with the first storms of summer, crackling thunder matching the flash of lightning off in the distance. Hardly more than a stripling, barely reaching adulthood. But he could see in her eyes that she knew more than those long her elder, and that she'd come to him seeking answers to the things she did not. And so he invited her in, gave her tea, bade her bathe in the shallows, listen to the waves, breathe the salt air. She resisted of course, demanded he speak of what she wished to know. He simply repeated his instructions, and a gentle request for patience, before he turned in for the night.

She stayed with him for months, each week growing more frustrated, each day greeted with biting anger. But still he bade her be patient, still he told her to simply bask in the Ocean's glory, and she would know. Weeks turned to months, months turned to years. Frustration and anger became contempt, then simple acceptance. He watched, as age weathered the edges of her face, as water and storm etched new lines upon her features. As Stripling became Maiden, so to do confusion give way to understanding, vision became Truth, foresight became reality.

So did he watch a Princess become a Queen.

He was there, the moment the Maiden finally understood.

He was there the day that the Ocean once more found it's Queen.

 

[siobhancan99]

One of the attractions of the resort was the cave system. Dotted here and there among the volcanic caverns were little patches of sky, with plants growing down the side and... like here... perhaps the splash of a stream spilling into the underground system. Though others were on the tour, as Angelica stopped to listen to the rush of the waterfall, to inhale the fresh scent of water and earth... she felt alone. Blissfully alone. Here in the noise of the water there was a quiet, a peace that was a balm.

When she came to the expensive resort, she'd been giving the marriage one last shot. One last chance for Danny to show he'd grown up. That he was a partner for more than just paying his portion of the mortgage. As the days wore on, his absence in the few activities she'd chosen for herself was telling. His absence now, was even more telling. Telling in the absence of something else... remorse or grief or even a hint of doubt. The quiet in her grew. Swelled as if it might make her burst and in bursting, would end the quiet with a laugh. A laugh like she hadn't had in years.

Looking up at the dot of blue through the hole to the world above, she felt like the sun was shining on her and her alone. She'd come to the resort to save her marriage, but instead she found herself in rush of an underground waterfall. "worth every penny" she sighed, dipping a bare foot into the icy water of the stream "Every fucking penny."

The couple next to her nodded, assuming she meant the resort. She smiled at them, then basked in the freedom of being alone.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Okay Folks it's Wednesday again.
Let's see what you can come with
And hopefully, maybe, these two will entice
others to write.
Enjoy!



​

 

[HornyIsh69]

The Trace of Success

Dave was bored at home and decided to go to his buddy's poker game. Although it was meant to be a usual poker game with beer, bro talk and everything else in between, something didn't feel right with him. Something was out of place, he did not know what it was. So he hopped into his Camaro and drove over to his buddy's house, until his wife said that Jason's poker game was moved over to Chuck's club. Now Dave didn't mind Chuck, it's just that when he played with them he becomes like a specter who plays a game to only play for keeps of very important items. Dave sighed and drove over to Chuck's Club, "The Fire and Brimstone Club". The club wasn't no ordinary gentleman's club, it also was a day of the week Chuck hosted a Poker Game. See the rotation went like this, Dave, Robert, Jason and Chuck. But for some reason Chuck would have a turn on the rotation. Whatever it was, Dave knew the game was the game to be their last.

Dave went into the Establishment as he went down to the poker room. Now this was also Chuck's private area which also acted as storage for drinks that needed to be refilled in the bar area. "Alright ladies, Hands." Chuck said while he smirked and checked his hand. Dave's hand was a good hand. He smiled. With Dave confident. He had a 3 of a kind Hand. Robert had 2 Pair Hand, and Jason got a Pair Hand. With that, Chuck then said. "Show your hands." Dave beat both Robert and Jason, but then Chuck looked at Dave and said, "Sorry but I got a Full House." He said as the fifth card turned into an 8 of Hearts. "So gentleman, the wager. Is your eternal soul casted into damnation." They all laughed but chuck was dead serious.

 

[Otto26]

View attachment 2168057
The breezes moved softly through the branches of the trees and the leaves underfoot. The moon was overflowing in the clear sky, filling the landscape with so much light that it might be mid-day when the sun had slipped behind a cloud for a moment. Behind her lay the fields, before her was the forest. She'd grown up here, played here, and, yet, she could not remember this lane going into the forest. This lane meandered between golden fields and stopped at the edge of the forest, at the irrigation ditch that paralleled the forest wall.

But it plainly continued, into the moist core of the forest. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stepped forward, a breeze at her back helping her along. With each step she felt the fields falling further behind her, the associations of home, family, friends, and woe falling away. 'Just a little further,' she thought. She wanted to see what was around the bend, hidden in the mist. 'Just a little further.' And around her the breezes danced through the branches and the leaves.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

There were laws regarding the moving of the universe.

Science liked to define them in logical ways, hard rules that were always true, no matter how one might resist them. The magician though, knew there were laws more ancient than the flimsy understanding of the average man, and that such laws were hardly as immutable as they seemed. He would know, he'd twisted them enough to suit his needs, some might say far more than he should have. Certainly far enough that he'd caught Her focused attention long ago, and She loved to remind him of it. So it was no surprise to him, before he even checked the cards dealt to him, that he spotted Her out of the corner of his eye. He'd have groaned if it weren't for the revolver pressed to his temple and the sneering gangsters seated about the table, their smug satisfaction at having caught him clear.

"You win the hand, you can go. You lose, and I guess we'll get to see if those rumors about you are true."

Embarrassing really, for a magician of the True Art getting caught so easily by the mundane. He could see Her laughing at him, even if he couldn't hear Her. She was close then, but not quite across the veil, which meant Death wasn't coming for him yet. He watched as Freddie flipped over his cards, revealed the kings full of queen naked upon the table. Full house, a strong hand, difficult to beat. He could feel his heart pounding the revolver was tapped against his temple, the none to gentle encouragement to flips his own cards. A deep breath, the subtle twisting of magic in the air as his hand reached forward and flipped the first card.

Ace of Spades.

He reached out with his Will, felt the cool metal of the barrel and the warm, life filled hand that held it. Another card.

Ace of Clubs.

The gangsters around the table were leaning forward, intent upon the cards upon the table, foolishness when faced with magic. The third card.

Eight of Clubs.

A grasp of cold, unfeeling magic rippled outwards, grasped the light of life, snuffed it like a candle. The man behind the revolver was dead before he even recognized the fact. The fourth flipped.

Eight of Spades.

As the revolver fell away, he was on his feet, magic extending outwards, shades coming forth at his call, ripping their way across the veil to fall upon the living, tearing life from warm bodies. Freddie screamed as his hand pushed into his chest, grasped the beating heart within, and Death's chill grip tore his future away. One man tried to get a shot off, the bullet whipping past his head before the ghosts descending on him fully. The room grew silent as his Will sent the shades back from whence they came, a breath he didn't know he was holding let out into the suddenly freezing air. He glanced down at the table, the cards upon it unmoved despite the frantic moments of panic. The last card.

Queen of Hearts.

Well damn.