Anger courses through my veins as I’m roused from my slumber by a knock at the door. How dare they wake me early.
I rise from my bed, checking the illuminated dial of the clock on the wall. I am supposed to sleep for at least three more days. They will pay for waking me. Without the proper time to rest I’m left in a weakened state. It is a ritual I abhor. Thankfully it only happens once every few decades.
The room is in darkness, soundproofed against outside noise. Whoever is knocking must be knocking hard enough to be heard.
Not bothering to dress, I wrench open the door to find a lackey on the other side. He is trembling, his eyes cast at the floor.
“The building had better be on fire,” I roar at him.
He shrinks back, “No, sire. I was told to summon you at once. It’s urgent.”
“The old woman. She says it can’t wait.”
If she’s here then it must be serious. I retrieve a shirt and pants and dress. The lackey stands obediently in the hallway, still looking at the floor.
As I pass him, I lash out. My fist strikes him in the face with enough force to snap his head back. It strikes the wall behind and he crumples to the floor.
I pass another lackey on the way, “Clean that mess up, will you.”
She is waiting for me in the study. She is seated on the love seat, her face hidden behind a long, black veil. Over the decades, she has had many names, most long forgotten. Now she is simply known as the old woman.
A seer by trade, I usually summoned her when I needed her services. The fact that she had come here by herself suggested that I wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
“What an unexpected surprise,” I said, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice.
“You’d do well to curb that tongue if yours. Especially since I am here to offer you something that you have always wanted,” she said. Her voice was a rasp.
“And what is that?”
“A way home.”
I smiled and lowered myself into the chair opposite her, “I’m listening.”
Jenna Deluise lives in a broken world. The dead walked, millions died. Here's what happened After.
I AM AN AUTHOR, BLOGGER AND A JOURNALIST.
“Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”