Holden was sulking. And for someone almost two hundred of age, it was clear to anyone watching that he was acting pretty immaturely.
He knew Oliver wasn't dead. His emotions were on full display before his eyes, dancing like flames. So why was it that he still felt like there was something missing?
His eyes flicked to a candle flickering in the distance. Everything about it annoyed him. Put it out,' he demanded.
Lefevre, the blithering idiot, hurried to do so, muttering to herself as she did so.
Holden had nothing other to do than to watch her try to put out the candle, relighting as soon as it was out.
He cursed and got out of his chair, mumbling how some people were just too much effort.
But the candle wouldn't go out, even for him. Especially for him. It wouldn't even dim—not even a flicker.
Damn his mother and her cursed inventions.
And suddenly he knew exactly what he needed for his problem. And grinned. And laughed.
He picked up the candle, the flame nearly lighting his beard on fire—not that it would have harmed him. Much.
The kids would be nothing more than cold ashes when he was finished.
word count: 204
total words: 27, 145
date: 30th April
thanks for reading! this was probably the most I've ever written in a short amount of time and I love every single one of you who take the time to read, vote, and comment <3
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