Day 18: Dead Perfume

Crushed between two pages bookmarking a section on home fertility remedies, Shiori found a head of dried hydrangeas. He plucked it out gingerly—the petals were veined and brittle as fly wings. They shuddered quietly in his grasp. Shiori’s eyebrow ticked. He hated dead things.

Reining in the drapes of his sleeves, Shiori tossed the book away and cupped the husk in both hands. He stoked up the Dark Thing, and concentrated it through dry contact of his skin. Slow and thick, the suffocating magic bled through Shiori and into the stem. The snarling mind of the Dark Thing barged out, and rewrote the definition of death.

With the speed of mortification, the hydrangea complied to his new specifications. It swelled full and periwinkle again, flowers blooming into ruffled umbrellas. An earthy perfume leaked out. Fresh moisture dotted each of Shiori’s fingers.

Shiori sighed out the knot in his stomach. Perfect. He would keep this sprig in water—not that it would ever wilt again.

-The Stars Went Out

More of Shiori, his weird hang-ups, and his weird magic. I’m still occupied slapping the typed draft into a semblance of progressing narrative, and frighteningly sleepless. Only about two weeks left of Camp Nano writing–hold on tight and clench those teeth!

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