March’s challenge: write a less than 400 word sci-fi or fantasy story that includes the words "glide", "metal", "disillusioned", and "forgotten".
As always, creative liberty with the prompt is encouraged!
Hard mode: protagonist never speaks, but another character does.
Post your stories in the channel when you're done; one entry will be selected (providing we receive 3+ entries) to be put through the editing process and then read aloud on Mythos & Ink's podcast, Wayfarer's Guide to Worldbuilding.
You've got until 11:59pm CST on March 31st to submit your piece!
Written March 19th, 2024
The study was quiet save for Prince Ronan’s voice as he dictated the letter to me. Rona- His majesty gestured wildly, and despite his erratic thoughts, the glide of my quill across parchment kept up with his scattered thoughts. He’s been high-strung since his brother’s visit to court.
Prince Rechus had even stranger mannerisms than Prince Ronan, but I found him to be rather pleasant company; a good listener, entertaining, and almost as disillusioned as me with his brother’s denial of friendship. As outsiders to the court, with his scandalous behavior and my lower caste and magic, neither of us are publicly welcome to his life. I, however, am employed as Ronan’s servant; there is no escape from his ire. However, Rechus did say he respected my work...
The metal nib stalls as I wonder about openings in Rechus’ council, and it takes Prince Ronan another half-hour until he finally calms enough to notice. Silence surrounds us, but I could not break it even if I wanted to.
So, eventually, he does.
“You used to give me feedback, you know; get me back on track, berate my word choice. Hell, I even miss your grammar corrections.” Ronan huffs, lingering frustration tinged with sadness. I can only watch his expression fall as the silence stretches.
“Why don’t you talk to me anymore?”
I open my mouth to berate him, only to grasp at my throat at the harsh block that lies there. I ignore his concern, clamp my mouth shut, and write.
The library last week.
"What? Wait, did my brother do something to you?" He sounds furious, so I hastily continue on.
No. I was talking to him and enjoying his company when you barged over to berate me. When I called you out on being a jerk, you said “I wish you’d shut up” and meant it.
I pause, my hand trembling slightly, but continue.
When I swore my fealty to you, not the crown, I used the phrase “Your wish is my command;” my magic makes it true. You may have forgotten, but I can't.
He reads it over my shoulder and gasps.
"What?? I never- I thought- gods," he mutters as he leans heavily against the desk, eyes flitting between mine and the parchment.
More cursed silence, but his face turns thoughtful.
He kneels at my side and commands, "I wish I knew how to help you."