Modeled after Giovanni Boccaccio's classic from the 14th Century, this collection similarly brought 100+ short stories to Wattpad readers. The original's premise was simple: ten individuals entertained themselves over a span of ten days by telling a...
There is no debate among the tricksters whether Hermes' offering should be accepted into the collection. Before the words are even out of the leader's mouth, the glowing yellow book is whisked into the robe.
Hermes takes a bow and flies back to his seat. I can't help but smile, and I see you are too. There's such an exuberance about Hermes that belies his age. It's also what makes him dangerous if you don't watch him closely. He often forgets how fragile mortals can be.
Hermes wants to crowd surf on the tricksters, but this does not go over well. Dionysius insists he take his seat, but it takes four of them to wrestle him down.
The leader waits until a relative calm has descended. Then the leader lifts a hand and motions toward the crowd. "Bring forth the next offering."
Rumplestiltskin stands. He already has a book out. As he approaches the podium, the book turns vermillion.
You are leaning much closer now. As you move forward, I see the glint of a dagger in your belt. Intriguing. You were told not to bring weapons here.
The crowd stills once more. Rumplestiltskin clears his throat. "I appreciate this tale for many reasons, and it must be part of our collection for what it demonstrates."
"And what does it demonstrate?" someone calls from the crowd.
Rumplestiltskin chuckles. He lifts a finger and wags it as the book floats into the middle of the fire pit. "Ah ahh, you shall see."
The Child – Anonymous
The sun set behind the soot-covered city. Le had nowhere important to go, but her instincts warned her to keep up the pace.
The broad smooth roads were mostly empty. Too empty.
Le rubbed her arms. Why was she even out here? It was well past ten, and, ordinarily, she locked herself up in the safest spot she could find unless she had a mission. It was too much of a risk that Jelzar would find her. But some deep urging, some inner sense, told her that she needed to be out here.
But why?
Le stopped just beyond the reach of the long-necked streetlight. The amber light pooled outward, but she knew better than to linger in the light.
A car whizzed along, its headlights blindingly cold. Instinctually, she shrugged deeper into her black peacoat and charcoal infinity scarf. What's wrong with me, she wondered. She had found the perfect place to spend the night, a secure bunker with three layers of locks and bars, and yet here she was.
The air crackled around her. Perhaps it was her imagination. She stared into the darkness of the nearest alley. Not even a mangy dog sniffed about the dumpsters and tin cans.
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A small hand grabbed her. Startled, Le leaped and turned, breaking free of the tiny grasp.
There behind her was a little girl, no older than five years old. Brown bangs covered her eyes until she reached up and brushed them away. She stood no taller than Le's waist, and she had an official letter with an archaic wax seal stuck in her open red coat. "Help me."
