The city of Lemur had long been abandoned. But the magic remained. Underground. When she reached out, her power no longer felt weak but pulsed steadily.
A voice asked, “What are the roots that clutch? What branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”
The voice had boomed inside her head. This was new. She meandered through pink island mists.
Something was off.
She brushed her hand against a tree and her hand passed through the weathered bark. Startled, she jumped back. She glanced into a puddle. Just a shadowy reflection. Great! She’d come to siphon old magic, but something seemed to be consuming her avatar. She kept an eye on one blurry cloud – her exit portal.
“You won’t make it,” a voice warned.
“Please, the rebellion needs us. Join me! There’s still time if we jump!”
Pink mists surged as the city shrunk below.
Mish hosts Prosery tonight at dVerse, and has selected a line from T.S. Eliot “The Waste Land”:
“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?”