The owl flew swiftly into the window.
After last time, it realised the barn door wasn’t open, but didn’t think any further.
Category: Halloween
There was an old troll called Gakkorr
Whose feet were swollen and sore
He sat down on a log
But was bit by a frog
Although the bite was more of a gnaw
Delicate skin
Pale
And crack’d
Watery eyes
Pale
And blue
Tattered lips
Taut
And chapp’d
Rotten teeth
Almost through
She posed with her alabaster smile momentarily, giving her victim one final look at her time-ravaged appearance, before piercing the jugular. She drank. She watched the victim’s skin change appearance, becoming more translucent. Too much and the victim’s life-force would slip away; just enough and she would sire another… either way, the victim: gone forever. Too little, however, would endanger her.
She pondered as she drank.
Reddened lips accentuated her deathly pale appearance. Her alabaster smile broadened. Her decision was made.
She looked on in disbelief.
“How dare they!” she snarled. “How dare they use MY word in such a way. It is my word, my word alone, yet they all use it however they want, whenever they want, without thought. I own it. I created it.”
She hissed. She’d spurt venom, if she could. She was seething.
Her word, she’d decided to claim, was ‘the’.
Convinced so she was the word was her creation, wherever it occurred, she became fuelled by rage. She’d strike through it. Cast a spell upon its user. Claim divine intervention.
As time went by, her true name became forgotten. She became known as simply ‘The Crone’.
And just how that name riled her spoke volumes. It did ‘become’ her word… only not in the way she wanted it to, or thought it always had.
And others used the word in their own way regardless.
Image from Pixabay, adapted.
Words inspired and shaped by the Powers That Be. This is a piece of fiction. Utter nonsense based upon nobody living or dead. Or undead. Completely devoid of fact. And 150 words long (or thereabouts!)
The Beast of All Hallows… hidden… lurking… so it is written…
