Find me at Anneandrogen on Itch.io, Tumblr, and Dreamwidth
Thirteen Months ago, I shot the last billionaire to death. He'd been hiding deep in a labyrinth, a mess of tunnels and auxiliary bunkers with ten thousand dollar paint and twenty dollar locks. Ten hours of searching with a team of over a hundred sweeping the maze. It was chance that we found him, fate maybe. I'd won the coin toss, taken enough random turns to come across the right door.
Behind door number three? The grand prize.
Content Warnings for: Violence, death, surreality, shitty exes.
Hard wood floors groaned under her feet as she entered, dust swirling in the air as the door shut behind her. Everything was covered in dust, a fine gray-black layer over a perfect Victorian bedroom. Dark woods prevailed: from the small canopied bed and the towering mirror face of the wardrobe, to the agonized faces in the carved relief above the fireplace and the writing desk that lay opposite. Cobwebs hung heavy from the crown molding. The dying embers in the hearth cast a low and cooling light, but despite this Stella still felt the terrible heat.
A small chair faced away towards the fireplace. A pedestal was set next to it with a crystal glass of bourbon. In the chair was a woman. She wore an expansive white dress that trailed on the floor towards the fireplace, ends burnt and smoking as if she had been feeding it to the flames. Light blonde hair curled towards her face, with its porcelain features. When she spoke Stella knew it was with a startling solidity, hard as diamond.
Finishing the rest of the wine and writing might not produce the best prose but god have i solidified the characterization.
Fun mini-snippet from my current project!