Un-Stuck

Words fell from his mouth like smooth, warm honey, slow and lazy, coating us in tales of great adventures, love stories, epic tragedies, and worlds of magic. He knew the power of a first sentence, piercing us through our cheeks, reeling us in and keeping us hooked. On a hot summer afternoon, with full bellies and content smiles, he beckoned us over to his spot on the back porch, overlooking the pond. “Once I found a message in a bottle, but not where you would have expected.” His eyes glossed over as if he were transported into another world, far off from summer holidays and crickets chirping in the tall yellow grass along the sides of the house. “You see that pond over there,” he motioned, shifting his eyes over our heads and onto the pond he and grandma said was there before we were born. “That’s where I found it.” “No way!” said Ben, “Messages don’t float in ponds,” he added matter-of-factly. I swatted at him. We never interrupted grandpa. There wasn’t any time to talk. ...

I could smell her… That foul stench of rot and decay. That potent and familiar smell of the undead was one I would never remove from my senses, no matter how strong the tonics. The entire stretch of the hallway was bathed in that horrid odor and yet, I still found myself creeping closer and closer to my goal. Each step echoed softly along the slime soaked walls, my hands trailed along to keep my balance firm and my bearings locked. The darkness would swallow one in an instant, fortunately for me, my heritage gave me the gifts to be able to pierce the darkness somewhat and traverse it without the need for torch or flint. I knew I grew closer, every step down the wretched hallway underneath this castle, to my one goal. Vaal’Una, the Witch, would die tonight. That horrible, horrible smell… That festering notion in my mind kept my pace slow to a crawl, however. “What if she has yet to change fully,” I asked myself aloud against my better judgement. No, I thought better, she is gone f...