The Ancient Chronicles: Short Stories

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Necromancy resided within her solar plexus, her infinite nucleus.  Brows wrinkled as eyes narrowed.  Void of sexual characteristics, using “her” or “him” in reference to self seemed ludicrous.  Still the sound felt lucrative on her tongue as her view shifted.  Emerald embers evolved in the distance.

     Misery outweighed all the sands of the sea.  Strength to tolerate nothingness encouraged mortals to live another day in this reality.  Knowledge such as that played upon their emotions.  Perhaps both combined presented the human spirit with defenses to endure a sick body.  Whatever the design consisted of it proved a fruitful one. 

     In a sun lit patch a vial glistened.  Its murky contents highlighted polished marble beneath.  An assortment of containers, labeled and marked, sat to the left.  From a shaded corner she watched and waited.  With her pale rose hair pulled back into a severe bun, her face was pinched, tight and expressionless.  Like a statue she remained transfixed until the liquid began to simmer.  Only then she flinched and folded her hands over one knee.  As it boiled over in spurts of unruptured bubbled her forehead creased.

     The glass splintered then shattered.  Across the table its essence scattered except now it was dust, colored pink and continued to bake in the steady sunshine stream until all that remained was a dried film.  A chalky odor hung in the air.

     Death had no obvious anecdote after all.  Humanity’s architecture established once again its paramount integrity.  She sighed, her mauve stare wandered and realizations dawned on her; not even an Ancient revised mortal law.

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