• Writing

    The Friday Muse – Hidden

    Blood soaked the carpet, surrounding Rune like a blossoming rose. What he thought would have been the killing blow by Hastings simply put him in a state of misery he had never experienced before. His skull ached as if it were being tightened in a vice, and the rest of his broken form cried out in echoes of pain that mimicked the agonizing cries of a banshee. He didn’t have to guess that his wounds might be fatal by this point. And even if they weren’t, he knew Hastings would finish the job once he was finished cleaning up his wounded face. But the fact that Rune might be at…