Cassiopeia sank to her knees, his shadow still seeming to loom over her. Thorny bushes surrounded her, hid her, protected her in the center of this maze. She let her hand drop down to the loose soil, letting it trail over the ground and mix the freshly moved dirt beneath her.
The rose she held in her other hand was almost as red as the blood that flowed freely from her pricked fingers. She felt numb. Pain meant nothing anymore.
Her head dropped down, eyes squeezed shut, long hair covering her face. Cassiopeia exhaled sharply and held the long-stemmed rose in front of her.
The rose burned, petals curling to black ashes in the flames.
from 'and the deadwood burned'
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Snippets of Writing
Short StoryShort stories, selections, and fragments of my writing, both from fan-based things, original works of fantasy, and independent short stories.
