Original Works · Writing Scraps

Writing Scraps #2

He sat, regally reclined and bored, on his crimson throne. The hall was dusty and broken, full of aged furniture, cracked gold, and dead foliage. A thick layer of gray dust sat upon everything, a gruesome veil hiding what once was beautiful beneath age. Tiny blemishes were speckled all around in the carnage, proof of wandering sprites or brownies, probably searching for some spare milk.

Or blood.

The Fae continued to sit, stroking what had once been his; the throne’s spider-silk upholstery was still a striking crimson, though it was full of holes and tears. Deep mahogany had depleted, leaving behind the carcass of strong wood covered in rags. A once elegant rug sat at the foot of the throne, leading down stone steps and joining with a much larger, much more extravagant one. But all that remained were strips of red, blue, and black, revealing the in-tact stone beneath it.

“Highness! Oh, Highness!” a cheerful voice sung, filling the cavernous hall with sound. The Fae on the throne sighed, a look of deep-set annoyance taking residence on angular features.

“Shut up and get lost,” he called back calmly. A cackle came back to him.

“Ho, ho, ho, Highness! You do have a sense of humor!” And suddenly, a smaller man came prancing into the room, wide and slightly manic grin visible through all the fog.

“That’s not humor, fairy. That is irritation.” Midnight eyes glared at the newcomer, contemplating frying him to ashes. But then he remembered that the little bastard would just him and haw to Oberon and come back with a vengeance.

The dark-haired Fae sneered and shifted off the throne, standing tall and dark among the dusty haze. The manic grin widened on the smaller member of the Fae, turning beyond manic and going straight to sinister.

“Come, Highness; time to leave this place,” he crowed loudly, kicking an empty gold goblet across the vast floor. He cackled once more, dancing around in glee as the goblet bounced into several other artifacts on its journey, creating a symphony of clashing metals. Eyeing the tiny creature, the dark Fae wondered briefly whether or not he could shut it away in one of the many trunks in the decrepit palace.

No one would miss it, he was sure.

But he merely stepped down, ignoring the clouds of dust that erupted with each step. The prancing fairy continued his dance, moving in circles around the taller Fae, continuing to cackle with glee.

“Prince Eli, aren’t you happy? I told you the reign would end and look! It has! You should be thanking me,” the shorter one pouted once he realized the Prince was not joining in his joy. Eli glanced down at his companion, one elegant brow raised.

“The day I thank you is the day I give my soul to Oberon.”

“How cruel, Highness!”

But the manic grin had returned, tied in with the echoing cackle. Life in Underground was good and well.

Which meant it was time to stir up some chaos. Ho ho ho!


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