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Witch HuntElle wiggled her toes inside her boots, trying to warm them. She couldn't pinpoint where exactly the screams coming from the woods were, just that'd she'd be walking down the trail that led to them in a short moment.
"It's freezing out here," Justin said. He stood next to Elle, rubbing his hands in front of his chest.
"Don't worry, boy. You'll warm up soon enough," said the guide. She was an older woman wearing tennis shoes, jeans, and a coat zipped up to her chin. She clutched a flashlight in her right hand. "Especially if the hunters get you."
Elle grinned. "Better watch out, Justin," she said. "The witch hunters'll get you!" She jabbed him in the side.
"Quit," Justin said. He grunted from the sudden, sharp pinch under his ribs. "You're gonna be the one they get."
"Alright, alright, is this everyone?" said the guide. She shined her light onto everybodys' faces. Including Elle and Justin there were four others in their group that they'd been standing in line with for the past hour and
The Paralyzed CatThe room beneath the hidden door was large and filled with antique desks stacked to the ceiling. I stepped down into it first. He followed, and the cat bounded ahead of us down a narrow path between the towers of furniture.
"What is this place?" he said.
We followed after the cat. Our movements were restricted by everything tightly packed around the path. We found her a little ways ahead curiously looking around.
"You're here," said a rumbling voice.
We looked up to where it came from. A massive, inflated cat hovered near the ceiling watching us. Thick fur. Curled lips.
"What're you?" I asked. My companion stood next to me staring at the cat.
"What're you?" said the cat.
An uncomfortable noise began to hum.
"We don't know where we are," I said.
The cat grinned. "You're beneath it all," it said.
Its mouth opened, and the humming shrouded the room in a deafening quake. The hovering cat vanished then reappeared nearer to us, slowly crawling from an invisible tunnel. Its mouth
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More