Member-only story
The Matriarch
#100StoryChallenge — No16
The whispers in the trees told the elves the time was nearing.
The current Matriarch lay in a glass coffin, and roses were already blooming and trying to engulf her failing body. Her rare breaths came out as plumes of frost glittering in the air.
Elves did not shed tears, but their looks of sorrow would have inspired many a human artist to pick up a brush and take to a canvas.
Soon the Matriarch would perish with the first thaw.
Then the elves would wait for the arrival of the next in line.
Somewhere far off, a baby cried.
This is a part of my endeavor to go back to writing tighter fiction with more stringent word counts. It’s just one attempt at the 100 Story Challenge because I thought it would be a good exercise to do to keep my imagination sharp. We’ll see how it goes.
For longer fiction, you may enjoy my stories linked below:
