“Abby.” She knew not to step any closer, through the door, into the room. The girl stood, motionless, palm outstretched into a late-afternoon sunbeam swimming with dust motes. “Abby.”
“I can make them stop.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“It’s just so pretty.”
“Time isn’t yours to play with. It belongs to everyone. We’ve talked about this.”
The girl’s hand dropped, the beam brightened and whitened, the dust motes sped their convoluted dance. “There. Normal. Happy?” She sat on the bed, pushed the hair from her eyes. “I’m not going to break it. You should trust me. You’ll have to, eventually.”
Trust and the young is a hard combination to achieve. Even with pretty young sourcerers!
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading :-)
DeleteI love the story behind this!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading and commenting :-)
DeleteThis sounds like the beginning of a story that I would love to read!
ReplyDeleteWHAT!?! You conveyed a LIFETIME in 6 lines of dialogue. The end is amazing. I am awestruck.
ReplyDeleteVery kind of you. :-)
DeleteMmm. intrigued. I have a good feel for Abby, but the person at door makes me wonder ... more, please!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading :-)
DeleteI'm all excited at the promise of mayhem I read in this. I suspect more than a promise will be broken... and the result will be yummy.
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Thanks for reading and commenting. :-)
DeleteA delightful vignette...
ReplyDeleteA very good backstory, I like this.
ReplyDeleteProfound...love.
ReplyDeleteVery kind, thank you :-)
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