In hindsight, it started as a sting at the back of his neck. He didn’t think much of it, just rubbed absently at the irritated skin without looking up from his book.
“Your highness?” his valet asked.
“Just an itch,” he waved it off.
Overnight, it turned into a stiff neck. Halfway through the day, it turned numb. The morning after that, it turned into fire.
“The prince has been poisoned!”
Continue reading “Short Story: The Sting of Betrayal”
It’s autumn. He knows this not because of the hue of the leaves, but because they fall like rain.
He may have survived the poison, but he has lost his colour vision. He can’t complain. Most people don’t survive at all, and the few who do are often left with even more debilitating issues like partial paralysis or the inability to form new memories.
Still, it’s a shame that he’ll no longer be able to enjoy his favourite fire-red avenues. He’ll need to change his favourite season. Lips curled in a wry smile, he turns away from the monochrome trees. He’s just about to cross the road when he catches a flash of green.
His head whips around, chasing the first spot of colour he’s seen in months. All his plans for the day drops from his mind as he breaks into a sprint.
September post count: 5/12