She kept me to the hard 100-word limit, and even gave me an opening sentence: "I thought he would come for me, but he didn't."
I thought he would come for me, but he didn't.
Celig screamed when he cut her, wept green tears and stiffened like a waxen thing as he took her. All I could see was a pile of corpses, tied with a cord and stacked neatly against the lip of the basket.
Ten perfect heads drooped and swayed as the giant dipped and nodded, cutting and pulling us up. Eleven. Twelve. And, shaking on my stem, I thought about something Celig had said to me once.
“I pity you for the black spots on your petals.”
I remain flawed… and unharmed.
As I explained to elvinborn, "It has to be a bit morbid, because, well, it's me."