Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!
A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!
With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction prompt based off a line to be used in the story. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!
(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)
“She is too dangerous to be allowed to live.”
Eammon groaned softly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose at those stern and hissed words. This was getting tiresome. Their argument was beginning to wear on his patience just a fraction too much. They were all fools in this regard, too scared and hateful to really realize what was best to do. Blinded by years of fear and hatred brought on by the Dark One, and now passing it over onto her Heir.
He hated thinking of Mistress Daemon like that. He still believed she had never wanted to be Ciara’s Heir. That what she really want had been twisted by that witch and then corrupted and exploited until she had fallen and given in. It was what the Dark One was good at, and though Kailyn was strong, she had traits that walked her straight into trouble despite how hard she tried to fight. Her hotheadedness did not help her case nine times out of ten.
His attention was pulled away by the conversation taking place once more, the five Councilors sitting around the table arguing what was to be done about her.
“We all know this softness she has shown now is nothing but a trick for her to demolish us with. She will come raging with power if we let our guard down too long. The hope of her defeating that witch was gone long ago at her first fall. We have a chance now, she is showing vulnerability after her reign. We must take it and kill her now, before it is too late.”
There were two eager nods in response, and one hesitant soul who didn’t move a muscle, save for flicking his conflicted eyes towards himself. Eammon frowned and tapped his fingers on the table top as he stared at the First Tier.
“We do not need to kill Daemon.”
The Head of the Council looked up to him with a sneer. “You only say that because you have a retched soft spot for the deceiving girl. She destroyed our town with a smile on her face. She killed and tortured with a sinister laugh. Are her actions not proof enough? Is her appearance change not enough for you to finally see she is nothing but the next Dark One?”
“No, it is not,” he replied calmly, staring him down. He knew he was walking on thin ice though. They could rule to dismiss him from his post as Third Tier for defending Kailyn, they could have him locked him and executed just as they were planning to do to her.
They were all so blind to what was really going on. There were so few in this town that saw the struggle and pain in those green eyes of Kailyn’s, everyone else saw what she had been taught to show: the mask of darkness. He hadn’t given up hope on her yet though, he would never do that.
“If you three were not blinded by your hatred for her, you would see she could overthrow Ciara.” The four of them flinched that he had actually used the Dark One’s name; not many were brave enough for that. “If only she had the help to back her instead of a town turning upon her every move in fear and hate. You are forcing her to choose how to survive, you are the ones along with this whole realm forcing her to turn to Ciara for the power to stay alive, and that is what is pushing her deeper. You are feeding Ciara’s fire, not Daemon’s. If the lot of you would grow a backbone–”
“Do you not dare speak to us as if we are cowards,” the Fifth Tier hissed, knocking his chair back as he leapt up and leaned over the table, glowering.
Eammon calmly turned his gaze on him, but they could see the anger in his charcoal eyes. “I am not the one jumping to assumptions, am I?” he countered levelly. “Perhaps you need to review your own views to see the harm this continued feud of hatred and fear has wrought upon our realm and sanity. It is not Mistress Daemon we need be fighting, it is Ciara. The Dark One herself. Daemon has done nothing but do what she must to survive. Perhaps, yes, she has slipped time again, but one can only be pushed so far before snapping and losing their light in an endless tunnel of darkness. For that is what this town, realm, and you all have done to her over the years.”
“That is enough!” The Head of the Council was out of his seat now, glaring daggers at Eammon and he knew the ice had begun to crack. “Maybe the problem is we have been ignoring part of the problem: you.”
He saw the attack coming and quickly got up and dodged the curse meant to stun him. The magic made a loud echoing crack in the high-ceiled chamber as it hit the stone wall behind him. The next curse came from the Fifth Tier, and he met the magic in midair with his own, resulting in a shower of light grey sparks colliding to the ground with another softer crack of impact. He was outnumbered, he knew that. Benet, the Fourth Tier, he knew would try to stay out of it, but the other three were fair game in attacking.
He may have been powerful enough by being the Third Tier himself, but there was only so many simultaneous attacks he could block at once, and after a short back and forth of colliding magic and dodging attacks in a deadly dance, the Second Tier’s curse finally found its target and threw him backwards.
Eammon hit the ground hard, stunned from the type of shockwave rolling through his body, but he still heard the First Tier yell for the elite group of guards and then the doors to the chambers open. Before he knew what was happening, he was being dragged up, his wrists shackled behind him and leaving his magic to blocked off by the rune upon them, then led off.
“You are making a mistake,” he called back even as he was roughly shoved forward. “Mistress Daemon will find a way to survive this bounty on her head, and you will see you only caused more trouble by your actions.”
The First Tier sneered after him. “She will give up when the Guarda capture her and she learns you are arrested as well. We may not make your death and flogging public, but she will see you die while she is locked up here in the dungeons, while she endures her own punishments for her crimes. Then she will be humiliated and whipped upon that platform out there in the square’s courtyard. Dallen will finally be free of one less evil upon her execution. Dallen will have a feast in the wake of her death.”
“Dallen will never be free of Ciara if you kill Daemon,” Eammon shot back as the chamber doors shut in his face and he was hauled off, praying silently that she would not be captured and tortured, or killed.
If only I had a way to warn her…
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