It had barely been even a day since the volcanic eruption. Most of the streets were still deep with soot. At least, those streets that weren’t completely buried or burned by active lava flows. I had survived, somehow, thanks to this curse. I didn’t dare take shelter with any others, and that turned out to be a good thing. I can usually handle stress, as a medical doctor, but in a life-or-death situation, I can’t always prevent the change that comes with being a werewolf.
I drew this image a while ago. I believe she is supposed to be some kind of spiritual being from a higher plane of reality, but I never came up with a name for what kind of creature she is.
The room had a domed ceiling of twelve arches. The thick transparent glass floor was the face of a giant six-handed clock, ticking ever so quietly. In the center of the magically lit chamber was a being of metal and feminine shape. It rose from a cross-legged sitting position, and drew sword and shield.
Lucius is the divine magic hero in my fantasy stories, like a cleric, oracle, or druid.
(This story contains some dark imagery and themes, and may not be suitable for all audiences. Reader discretion advised.)
Appearing suddenly before her, the ghost grabbed the saleswoman by the shoulders. She began shaking her violently, shouting.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Rabbit cursed aloud. Panting, he had quit pulling on his leg, realizing the hunter’s trap would rip into his flesh the more he tried to struggle free. It had already torn up his trousers, his nice party trousers, which he had prepared for tonight’s Full Moon Festival. He could see the blood soaking into the cloth, oozing ominously from the wound. The pain was unbearable.