It's claws are curved around the underside of the cup. The concave stone that is the liquid-holding-portion of the goblet is cracked. The stone is mossy on the exterior, the once golden innards turning tarnished.
It lies there, faded, forgotten, and dry as a bone.
This poor goblet.
The once golden glimmer, it's long-lost shimmer.
Now all that's left is it's shape and it's memory, the memory of wine, water, ale, and other beverages. The shape of the hooked talons, dipping its tips into the gold, the long fingers grasping the cup firmly in its gentle grip. The golden baubles on the base of the chalice, how they used to shine.
A warmth comes, from down a hall, a long since forgotten hall. This warmth, not seen since the last time the goblet was used, even then, not as hot.
Far away this flame of light trembled and lurched closer to the broken goblet. Until finally it arrives.
The creature's claws tap and scrape the stony ground, skittering closer to the waiting cup.
The claws find purchase on the goblet, then it's it's flame that grasps the goblet.
Flames curl and lick, flicker and roll over top the goblet, burning away the moss, polishing the rusty iron, smoothing and reshaping the gold.
Suddenly it's free.
Free from time, and all its vices.
Free from value, for it is beyond value.
Free from pain, it's already endured and beaten it's pain.
Now the goblet is glorious once more, and will forever sit proudly upon a dragon's hoard.
YOU ARE READING
Strange, Peculiar, and Outright Weird Short Stories
RandomHullo and welcome!! This is the beginning to a twisted, gnarled, enchanting, and mind-boggling adventure. Full of fantastical tales, small bursts of weird, and a consistent lack of understanding of what in the world is going on. These short stories...
