#DiceGames: Day Two

My second DiceGames prompt is: “Write a love story. Blood and gore is mandatory.” I first started writing a Mr. & Mrs. Smith type of story, in which lovers try to kill each other. But then I came up with an idea that was more along the lines of what I write.

Unfortunately I can't complete the challenge because I'm going to Menorca for a week's holiday, and I didn't have time to write the third story. I'll post the story and visit the other participating blogs once I get back.

They had followed the trail of blood and prints through the woods, and found the deer in a clearing, an arrow jutting from its haunch. He watched her as she stepped lightly ahead of him, leaving shallow prints in the snow. As always, she wore a coat of grey fur with darker shades running along her sides.

A drizzle of frost fell onto her back, revealing yet another carrion bird had arrived. The crows clutched spindly branches with crooked claws. Their thick beaks opened and closed as they squawked, awaiting a true predator to open the carcass.

He snorted in contempt at the presence of the foul birds. Should any of them dare attempt to steal, he would run them off.

A ripping sound caught his attention. Skin and fur came loose as she revealed their prize. Her long face disappeared amidst the carcass of the stag. She gorged on the dark red flesh, reveling in its taste and texture. He padded over to her side and joined the feast. Once they had their fill they would call to the others; there would be enough food for the whole pack.

He watched her with pride: her belly was round with their unborn pups. They would enter the world in the den their ancestors had found decades ago. They would be greeted and raised by the ruling pack of the Weeping Woods.

Gently he nudged his mate. She looked at him, yellow eyes glinting with joy. They lifted their snouts to the sky and howled in calling to the other wolves.

#DiceGames: Day One

Timony Souler's DiceGames challenge: three days, three dice rolls, three prompts. My first prompt is: “A red-haired vixen is trying to kill you. Deal with it.”

Auburn slammed the young woman against the wall. She lifted a hand to her victim’s throat, resisting the urge to finish her writer. Maybe she had a good reason for torturing her and the other characters.

“I’m sorry about what happens to you. I’m sorry about what happens to your… uh, family and friends.” Emilia peered over crooked glasses. She lifted a hand to push them back, but the though died under Auburn’s glare. “But you’re in a story and a story needs conflict or it suc—”

“Shut up!” Auburn’s fingers twitched. Her nails grew longer, sharpened into claws. “I don’t care what the parrots of writing blogs are repeating.” The shapeshifter lifted a hand from Emilia’s throat and set it on her shoulder. After a moment’s pause she continued through gritted teeth, “First you sent me to anger management and now you’re doing horrible things to me and the other characters.”

“I’m a writer! That’s more or less what we do.” She tried to shrug.

Auburn rolled her eyes. That was her writer’s excuse for everything. Why couldn’t she write something nice like children’s books? Then again that would mean no profanities, bashing heads or seducing people.

“Then stop writing.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or I will stop you.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “I can’t…”

Auburn lifted a finger and drew it slowly across Emilia’s throat, leaving behind a white line. “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

“I know you, I created you. You don’t kill unless it’s necessary.” She pressed against the wall, trying to disappear between the stone’s seams.

“Try me.” The shapeshifter grabbed her hand and lifted it before her face. “And I can always cut off your fingers. We’ll see how you write then.”

“If you stop me from writing you’ll kill yourself. You only live on the pages and in the readers’ imagination.”

Auburn’s finger went lax, allowing Emilia to wrench her hand free. She stared at her writer, or tried; the smudges on her glasses almost hid her eyes. On impulse Auburn wiped her glasses with the sleeve of her dress. There, now she could see her writer’s fear better.

“You have a point.” She stepped back. “And the thought of hurting someone nice, it just doesn’t feel good.”
Emilia sighed and pushed her glasses up again.

Auburn crossed her arms. “You’re going to make this up to us. I want a happy ending for everyone.”

“Even the villains?”

“What? No, of course not.” She leaned against the wall. Anger tightened her features as she spoke, “The villains deserve my fist in their face and a life in a dragon’s gut.”

“If a happy ending makes sense, then I’ll write one, but I can’t annoy the readers.” She lifted her hands as Auburn opened her mouth to object. “You want your part of the story to be read? If I had you ride off into the sunset on a white fool’s dragon, with a strapping young lad, while chomping down a chocolate pastry…”

“All right! But if you kill me off, make it a big scene.” Auburn spoke the words slowly, “No off-the-page death.”

“I don’t think I’ve created anything capable of killing you, but all right.” She lifted her glasses off her nose and stared at them in disbelief. “Did you just spit on my glasses?”

The shapeshifter gave her a flat stare.

“Never mind, just go back to Verannia.” She waved her hand in dismissal. Auburn turned to leave. “Wait, how do you know about blogs?”

The shapeshifter shrugged as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “I go through your mind when I’m bored.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped. “Just go. I need to plan a scene where you knock the marrow out of a skeletal demon.” She buried her face in her hands and muttered, “Pihkura*, what did I get myself into.”

*Emilia likes to use obsolete finnish swear words, such as “pihkura”, “pahkura”, “kehveli”, “himskatti” and “himputti”.