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!)
