In Search Of. . . Written Words: Writing Prompt

In Search Of. . . Words: Writing Prompt

Your villain sneaks into your hero’s bedroom one night.

She lay there, full lips parted slightly, blonde curls covering her face. I lifted the sash to the window, wincing as it shrieked in protest. I stared at her, watching her stir. She must be exhausted; normally any sound would wake her instantly; that or she was completely at ease. She gave a snorting breath, but didn't wake.

I melted into the shadows of the room. Zariel Harcos slept soundly, unaware that I was in her room. It wasn't the first time, either. I’d been slipping into her room here by the ocean since she’d left the Haven. She’d come to visit her cousins on their holiday, or rather, guard her young cousin.

I kept my distance.

If I got to close, I’d find the end of her blade under her pillow lodged which ever fleshy part of my body was closest to her. I turned towards her vanity, trailing my fingers over the perfume bottle, brush, and little hand mirror. There was even a puff with powder to drain the color out of her face, in case she spent too long in the sun. It was too feminine for her, even if she was my Littlest Lion Princess.

They must have wanted her to blend in with the local color. Her taught muscles always made her stand out. She wasn't soft. Well, maybe except her lips. Those were soft and sometimes her eyes reminded me of a frightened doe. Normally, she hid it all behind a diamond exterior. I picked up her brush and inhaled the scent. It took me back to those early days. She’d stand in front of me waiting for me to teach her a lesson. Her hair had brushed the small of her back then. It almost did now, but it looked different somehow. Maybe it was the moon light that streamed into the room.

I wanted to touch that hair again. Hold it in my fingers, as I did when she was young and pliable to my plans. Now, she steeled herself against my most earnest entries. I stood at the foot of the bed, watching her chest drift up and down, almost not moving. I sauntered next to her face. I hovered over it.

I leaned down, careful not to touch the bed. My left hand rested above the one that would grab her blade nestled under her pillow. She had the other pinned under her face. My right hand brushed the curve of her neck.
I pressed my lips to hers.

She jerked awake; her hand immediately grasped for the blade. I dropped my weight on her hand that went for the blade. She struggled. I squeezed.

In Search Of Written Words

In Search of Written Words. . . Writing Prompt, alternate grey scale world that only find color when you find your soul mate.

It was grey scale—all of it.

Everything his black eyes touched, monotonous tones of grey, black, and white. It had been most of his life; except that one brief moment when suddenly the colors poured in, over-saturated, blinding and resilient.

They said it would happen. If you found your soul mate, and as long as you saw them—

He caught a glimpse of her as she trotted down the street; his eye following the spaced that filled with color as she passed in a blue and red plaid suit coat that cinched around her narrow waist and then flared out over her nave blue pencil skirt.

Her cinnamon colored hair, done in victory rolls, seemed to glitter in the sun under her crimson hat. Her skin reminded him of freshly poured milk. Per he’d never seen milk, but his mind seemed to think that was the color. Her chili colored lips pursed in concentration.

She must have felt him.

He was staring so hard, how could she not have felt his eyes following her?

She stopped, turning slowly on her heal to see him. She held a gloved hand up, her lips pulling into a little smile. Her chocolate eyes brightened.

He felt his hand go up in the tiniest wave. Was she seeing him too? What did he look like to her?

She put one red pump into the street, making her way towards him. His heart quickened as he followed her lead putting one foot out there. It wasn't a wide street and no one was coming. Ten more paces and he’d have her.

He’d never want to leave her—never.

He stretched out her hand to grab hers.

A streak of canary yellow ripped her out of his grasp. A scream, and then another. Breaks squealed as they grinded the small car to a stop. People shouted in horror, but he didn’t hear them. He stood, unable to move; his hand still stretched out, gripping the air, expecting to clasp around a navy blue gloved hand.

Finally, he pulled himself away to look at the scene. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he saw her, lying on the ground. A bloody dribble slowly descended from her mouth. Her milk white legs splayed at awkward angles.

Her black frame eye lashes stared at him. He watched as her navy blue coat suddenly turned a dull brown. Sucking a breath, he dropped to the ground next to her, clutching her hand. He watched as her flaming red shoes became a light grey. Her skin turned to a dull white—like grey scale milk. And finally, the chili color drained from her lips. They were a bland dark grey.

It was all grey scale—everything his eyes touched.






As Always,