A/N: So, in English we were told to do a short story relating to a quest. So, I wrote this. It's way shorter than it appeared on paper, so I don't know. It's sort of a drabble, I guess? I thought it was relatively decent, though, and wondered about submitting it to our school's literary magazine (if it fits the rules and it is actually sort of okay). So, yes--reviews would be lovely. Otherwise? Hope you enjoy (and realize that this, while spell-checked, is in first-draft-mode).
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SACRIFICE
“If you take that--”
“I shall surely die?” Armana looked to Photebar, who only smiled lizard-like back at her. His shattered eyes glowed dull black, like lava rock and moonstone, and his stripped, broken devil’s wings cast shadows on the rocks.
“No,” he said, smoothly, “you shall likely die.”
“What a minute difference,” she said.
Sea air breezed through her robe; smell of brine washing over her in lapping waves.
Ricard looked awkward beside her, shifting from foot to foot. His brown eyes flashed, daylight catching amber flecks. “Perhaps we should go. There must be another way.”
Armana shook her head, fingers trailing the goblet before her’s gold and brass edge. “If I drink this, I’ll be strong enough to kill the leviathan.”
Ricard snorted like an angry bull. “But you could die!” he snarled. “Plus, we already have someone who can do that, but he won’t do anything!” He glanced towards Photebar. Photebar only looked blandly back, unimpressed.
“Death requires sacrifice,” Photebar said in monotone. “Someone has to take a risk.”
With that, Armana lifted the goblet and drank. Ricard shouted out in surprise and a sound came like the dying of birds. Armana’s sight grew dim and hazy and one of the last things she saw as Photebar pull a scythe and turn to Ricard.
As the world went black, she wondered how wise she’d been to put her trust in Photebar, god of nightmares.
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