Flash Fiction 6 October 2016

Ephemyia sailed around the room, her white gauzy gown floating behind her in a sea of ripples. Everything was going to plan. Graden was deep in her clutches, little did he know his soul was slowly being devoured by her every time he locked his green gaze on her unusual lavender eyes. She had won him away from Restituina. It was a time-consuming process, but one that, with a little patience, always paid off. She had seen the unusual slackness in his jaw, the drooping of his usually strong, square shoulders. It was a pity that such a fine man would fall so hard. But there you had it. Her kind had to survive somehow.

Suddenly, Graden swept into the room, and to Ephemyia’s surprise, brought half a dozen black coated, armed men with him, along with Restituina, who looked furious. Ephemyia was not perturbed.

Running her fingernails along a marble tabletop, she said, “Darling, whatever is going on?”

“We’re taking you in, Eph.” Graden kept his weapon trained on her, as did the black coats.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“For my attempted murder.”

She laughed, a lilting, musical sound. “I’ve never laid a finger on you, darling, that you didn’t want me to. How on earth have you come to the conclusion I’m attempting to murder you?” She made the words so plausible, threw so much strength behind the gentle chiding of them, that several of the black coats wavered.

But Graden was unflinching. “Look at me, Ephemyia.” He walked right up to her and grasped her arms, forcing her to look up into his face.

For a moment, she was confused. His eyes shone bright blue. Where was the deep green gaze she had come to enjoy peering into?

“Restituina warned me about you. Contacts. I’ve been wearing reflective contacts. It’s your own soul you’ve been consuming.”

“Nonsense. That’s not even possible,” she spat, wondering whether it actually was. She had been feeling a little under the weather these past few days.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I suppose we’ll find out.”


“As you continue to fall under my spell.” He kissed her fiercely, while the black coats turned on the shocked Restituina, blasting her into a million pieces. “You didn’t need to take my soul, Eph. You’ve always owned it.”


Flash Fiction 6 October 2016

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