Where once were drifting sands, now lies an ancient ocean.
Photo by Erika Garcia on Unsplash
“Cockroaches.”
The silence hung in the dense air, cloistered in the darkness like a waiting beast.
“You are describing an insect, c-cccccorrect?” Came a jagged reply from the deep void in front of them; the speaker – an old-world machine they had barely gotten working – spat and fizzed when it spoke, if it did at all.
Photo by Nuno Antunes on Unsplash
This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here.
“What do you mean, ‘your bones are no good here’?” Festree said, confused. “These are third-age roach skeletons, they’re worth at least a few old wyrds.” She picked up the bones to emphasize her point, showing their intricate branching structures. It had taken her nearly three days to prepare them, and these were the good ones; the rest had been thrown into a lacklustre stew as spice. Her stomach still roiled when she thought of it.
“I’ll tell you what, little witch-” The hag hacked horribly, her misshapen, furred body wracked by the effort, “-you cure me of this wretched cough, and I’ll give you what you want.” She rubbed at her throat for effect.
Continue reading “Stygian Cells”Where once were drifting sands, now lies an ancient ocean.
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