This one is a bit of a one off from a world-building exercise I did. I’ll probably be writing a post about the method I used in a Thursday Technicalities, but that might be a bit in coming. I’m undecided on whether or not I’ll make a short story or novel out of this flash fiction, but we’ll see. Here you are!
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I touch the flaking paint and peeling gold gilding of the doors, almost afraid of what might be behind them. But I also know it could be the only way out of here. I can’t go back down the dimly lit corridor I followed here, after all. So, I swallow the fear and press the door open just a crack, just enough to peek through.
The first thing I see is the man at the center of the room. The room itself is in shambles and looks to be empty aside from him. No noise is made, and I am certain I gave no indication of my presence. The door hinges didn’t make any noise earlier. But he knows I am here. He watches me from beneath long lashes, his irises a startling citrine. His clothing is immaculate, unlike the rest of the ballroom. A tailored suit and waistcoat with nice shoes. But his hair is unruly, giving him a wild look. And then he smiles at me, and I shiver. Out of fear or anticipation, I can’t say. Something about him both terrifies and warms me.
The floor around him is dusty, and the light coming through the dingy window just behind him casts the edge of some kind of platform into sharp relief against the floor. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t cast a shadow. In that room of decay and despair, he fits in but also stands apart. His wild hair indicates a carelessness that the room’s occupants reflected in letting the curtains be eaten by moths and time unheeded, but his clothes are immaculate. An enigma in every way, even if he did appear to be somewhat at home in the otherwise empty room.
I crack the door a little more and peer past him at the strange crack in the wall that’s emitting an unearthly glow. What could it be? Some sort of portal, maybe? It doesn’t look safe, whatever it is. I can’t see past the light no matter how hard I strain, but I catch some chords of an ethereal, haunted melody drifting through the room to where I’m standing.
“Will you hide there all day, daughter of the shadows?” His voice is silky and sultry, meant entirely to charm.
I shiver and shake my head, backing away from the door. Something about this feels wrong. I never get the chance to run. He has me in his grasp the second I turn away from the doors, determined to find another way. His musk and pine scent envelops me, both soothing and frightening at the same time. How is that even possible?
I struggle against his grip, but he easily pins me to the wall just outside the dimly-lit ballroom.
“You want out of here, yes?”
I nod, go limp and hope he’ll loosen his grip. He doesn’t.
“What if I’m the only way?”
My gaze drops to his belt, searching for any way I might fend him off. His belt holds a single blade, unsheathed and tucked through a loop. But one look tells me all I need to know. I won’t touch it. It whispers to me of arcane things and darkness, of the Seelie and the Unseelie, and worst of all, of war and disaster. Shuddering, I look away. It gives no sign that it might harm its owner or even me, but something about it is simply unsettling.
The man gives me a feral grin. “I asked a question. What if I am your only escape?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That if you want to escape this cursed mansion, you will have to come to me.” He leans closer until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “It’s a simple choice. Die here or take just a single sip from my cup.”
“Your cup?” I peer at the wall across from us as if it might contain answers and try not to notice how closely his body presses against mine.
“I left it in the ballroom when I came to fetch you.” He pulls away and grabs my wrist, tugging me through the doors. “You can either drink from it or starve to death in this place.”
“Why isn’t there an escape?”
His grip tightens. “Because of fate. Or because of whatever it is that will make you feel better about what is going to happen.”
My gut clenches. I stare at the object that is resting under the unfiltered brilliance of the strange crack in the wall. An odd liquid that looks silver in nature swirls about in the cup. “You want me to drink that? It looks like it might kill me.”
He forces me to my knees before kneeling beside me. “It won’t. Just one sip. One tiny sip, and you’ll be freed.”
I reach out and pick up the cool metal cup. “Just one?”
“Just one.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I lift the cup to my lips and take a tiny sip of the liquid. At first, a sweet and spicy tang fills my mouth. Then the bitterness hits, and I gag, choking on what I swallowed. It burns all the way down my throat and sets a fire in my belly. The warmth isn’t unpleasant, but I don’t like it all the same. “What is this stuff?”
He gives me a mysterious smile, and the liquid in the cup begins to change to gas, billowing out of the cup and flowing over me. It seeps into my pores and invades my nose, drying my throat and leaving the same cloying taste of sweet, spicy, and bitter on my tongue. “W-what have you done?”
He laughed and laced his fingers through mine as every nerve in my body burned and ached. “Made you mine.”
~~~
That’s it for this post, everyone! If you have something you’d like to see for future Flash Fiction Fridays, feel free to leave the suggestion in the comments below!