PROMPT : TORCH
“I’m not carrying a torch for anyone!” Julienne grumbled. She ducked the incoming headslap from her older brother. “Definitely not for that jerk and not even for you.” She scowled.
Her older brother, Merton, gave her a withering look. “You’ll have to get over it some time,” he said, disgusted. “A fire elemental that’s scared of an open flame? That’s a new one.” He pushed past her, leading the way up through the darkened cavern. “Try not to fall off the path, eh? The shadows are pretty dark.”
Julienne glared at him again, for good measure. He was really on edge tonight and it was making her nervous. He’d never complained about her aversion to fire before. Then again, they’d never been on the run from their home and calm life. Much less forced underground and running for their lives. There was always a first time for everything. Lovely.
She felt her skin crawl and shot a glare at the flickering shadows on the wall. They seemed to droop, beneath her blistering gaze, as she quickened her pace to keep up. There were so many whispers, she wasn’t sure she cared to sort through it all. The Royal Army had been ruthless in burning everything to the ground–but they’d been lucky. There was a hidden passageway in the cellar and even if they had yet to emerge in daylight, she much more preferred the cold darkness and being
But the message was the same. Had been the same since they’d first slipped through the crack in the basement’s stone wall and disappeared into the crawlspace that eventually opened up into dark, wet caverns. The Royal Army had been ruthless in burning everything to the ground–but they’d been lucky. There was a hidden passageway in the cellar and even if they had yet to emerge in daylight, she much more preferred the cold darkness and being
The Royal Army had been ruthless in burning everything to the ground–but they’d been lucky. There was a hidden passageway in the cellar and even if they had yet to emerge in daylight, she much more preferred the cold darkness and being alive.
“Julie!” Merton called, tersely. “Stop lingering.”
“Your legs are too long,” she shot back, but scrambled to keep back.
He slowed–ever so slightly–at that, but held the torch higher. The flames burned together in a neat, if odd, ball at the top of the scrap of wood that once barred the cellar door. “What?”
“Nothing,” She suppressed a shudder, inching closer. “Nothing.”
“What do the shadows say?” He glanced about, uneasily, the torch dimming.
Julienne grimaced. “They say–to hurry.” She licked her lips. “That we have to keep running.
(c) S. Harricharan.