Pulp Prose Ho!
Apr. 16th, 2007 03:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Nineteen
Word Count: 628
With every fiber of her being Miera fought against the luring, mellifluous voice that tugged at her. It made her blood dance in her veins, skin goose-pimpling and the short hairs at the back of her neck – the ones that always drifted free of her tail – prickle and stand on end. It wasn’t a foreboding sort of noise, something that made her wary and prepared for the worst. Rather, it made her feet feel light and her head ever so slightly foggy, although that could have been a product of the smoke. She didn’t recognize the language, no surprise since magic users tended to perform their work with arcane words that twisted the tongue and tried the ear. This, though, didn’t grate on her senses. She wanted almost to skip forward, drawn by the pleasant sounds, the cadence rising and falling in a pattern that reminded her of the traditional reels her people used to dance around the bonfires that marked the equinox.
It was all too familiar and easy, like a trap to lull the unwary, and Miera bit down hard on her lower lip until the bitter tang of copper flooded her tongue and freed her senses. She shook her head, brows knitting, and sucked in one cheek, holding it between her teeth in readiness as she finally crossed the threshold. Only a few feet inside, the shadows in front of her seemed almost impenetrable and Miera blinked, wished she could risk closing her eyes until they had adjusted. But time was short and she had always had excellent night vision.
Treading carefully, not wanting to make a sound, her boots were quiet footfalls on the stone floor until about three yards down what had ended up being a narrow entry hall. There was fabric beneath her feet on the next step, and she knelt down, fingers running with surprise over a rather plush carpet. A carpet in the middle of a swamp. Everything about this so-called sorceress was ringing false and for a heartbeat Miera reconsidered the job. And then, the lilting voice still bright and warm in her ears, she tasted blood for a second time and rose to her feet. She wouldn’t abandon a helpless young waif just because the job seemed off somehow. She was braver than that.
Angry now, annoyance at the lovely sounds that still tried to compel her making her strides longer and heavier, Miera headed for the only point of light ahead of her. There was a faint golden glow coming from the end of the long hallway and she strode forward unabashedly. Before she could reach the end, the singing tapered off and she ruthlessly quashed the small part of her that mourned its cessation. Caution taking over again, Miera crept forward until she reached the next arch. There, hanging back in the shadows, she cautiously stuck out her neck, squinting against the light. The room below was more like a bowl, a depression that had been carved out of the living spine of rock itself. And to one side, held by the expected ropes at the wrists to a curving grey wall, was Siere.
Pale blond hair, bleached by the light, hung in ragged strands over the bowed head and Miera felt a flash of pity for the poor girl. Nineteen and taken by a sorceress. That Siere hadn’t already been married off was a bad sign and this captivity would only make her chances worse. Still, at least she was still alive. Studying her assignment, Miera tried to see her face but it was hidden behind the fall of hair. Tracking downward, she eyed the white unblemished skin of the girl’s neck and then the flat expanse of bare chest. And…wait. Something wasn’t right here.
Word Count: 628
With every fiber of her being Miera fought against the luring, mellifluous voice that tugged at her. It made her blood dance in her veins, skin goose-pimpling and the short hairs at the back of her neck – the ones that always drifted free of her tail – prickle and stand on end. It wasn’t a foreboding sort of noise, something that made her wary and prepared for the worst. Rather, it made her feet feel light and her head ever so slightly foggy, although that could have been a product of the smoke. She didn’t recognize the language, no surprise since magic users tended to perform their work with arcane words that twisted the tongue and tried the ear. This, though, didn’t grate on her senses. She wanted almost to skip forward, drawn by the pleasant sounds, the cadence rising and falling in a pattern that reminded her of the traditional reels her people used to dance around the bonfires that marked the equinox.
It was all too familiar and easy, like a trap to lull the unwary, and Miera bit down hard on her lower lip until the bitter tang of copper flooded her tongue and freed her senses. She shook her head, brows knitting, and sucked in one cheek, holding it between her teeth in readiness as she finally crossed the threshold. Only a few feet inside, the shadows in front of her seemed almost impenetrable and Miera blinked, wished she could risk closing her eyes until they had adjusted. But time was short and she had always had excellent night vision.
Treading carefully, not wanting to make a sound, her boots were quiet footfalls on the stone floor until about three yards down what had ended up being a narrow entry hall. There was fabric beneath her feet on the next step, and she knelt down, fingers running with surprise over a rather plush carpet. A carpet in the middle of a swamp. Everything about this so-called sorceress was ringing false and for a heartbeat Miera reconsidered the job. And then, the lilting voice still bright and warm in her ears, she tasted blood for a second time and rose to her feet. She wouldn’t abandon a helpless young waif just because the job seemed off somehow. She was braver than that.
Angry now, annoyance at the lovely sounds that still tried to compel her making her strides longer and heavier, Miera headed for the only point of light ahead of her. There was a faint golden glow coming from the end of the long hallway and she strode forward unabashedly. Before she could reach the end, the singing tapered off and she ruthlessly quashed the small part of her that mourned its cessation. Caution taking over again, Miera crept forward until she reached the next arch. There, hanging back in the shadows, she cautiously stuck out her neck, squinting against the light. The room below was more like a bowl, a depression that had been carved out of the living spine of rock itself. And to one side, held by the expected ropes at the wrists to a curving grey wall, was Siere.
Pale blond hair, bleached by the light, hung in ragged strands over the bowed head and Miera felt a flash of pity for the poor girl. Nineteen and taken by a sorceress. That Siere hadn’t already been married off was a bad sign and this captivity would only make her chances worse. Still, at least she was still alive. Studying her assignment, Miera tried to see her face but it was hidden behind the fall of hair. Tracking downward, she eyed the white unblemished skin of the girl’s neck and then the flat expanse of bare chest. And…wait. Something wasn’t right here.
