Prompt: The first cold morning.
Do not ask me where this came from. Seriously, don't. I have no idea. It was fun though! XD
I grumbled to myself as I stepped outside the palace. Hum-diddly—those rabbits would catch their death of cold playing outside this early. Not that I'd mind that too much, of course. Funerals were always the most extravagant of occasions.
My beads bounce together, making cheerful noises as I go down the steps. Who could have guessed the chill we'd have this morning? But I'd have to tell Bleston that I'd known beforehand, of course. By Galt, what else was to be done?
Tell him that I hadn't known? Preposterous. Completely preposterous.
I wanted to punish myself for even thinking of such a low idea.
Perhaps I could play out in the cold, frigid air for an hour. That would be an apt punishment—
I shake my head, making my beads jangle louder. No, no, no—I'd never punish myself. Especially not in that way. Don't even think of such a thing.
I shudder as I enter into my small little room-thingy on the side of the palace. I suppose you could call it an inducing house, rather than a gardening house. I bob lightly up and down as I sit on my too-tall stool.
As soon as I'm situated I glance down at it with a scowl. Why I haven't replaced this old thing before, I don't know. Not only does it creak, but it's…it's too tall. And that's reason enough to replace it.
Bleston's too tall too. Maybe I should replace him.
No, no, no—never mind that. That won't be happening for a while yet.
Shut up, stupid brain.
I nearly squeal in surprise as the shed door creaks open. In fact, I fall off my stool.
As I get up, rubbing my shoulder quite regretfully, I decide it's time to get rid of that old thing. Without a doubt. It can't go around hurting Terralain's most venerable seer!
I turn to it, feeling for a few moments like I want to scold it.
Oh, right, there was someone at the door.
I turn back to the door, but there's no one there. Huh. Maybe they got scared by my falling.
I go to the door and peer out, beads jangling next to my ears. No one's around, except those younglings still playing to their death.
A chilling blast of wind catapults through the doorway. I stumble back, clutching my coat around me. So that was the unwelcome visitor. Curse this wind. Curse the changing seasons. Curse the cold.
I mutter to myself as I close the door. I need to get back to work—back to work immediately. No questions or delays welcome.
I sit myself on the stool again, then glance at it. My hand rubs the wood idly, then I reach for a pen.
Throw out stool, I write slowly. There. Now this thing won't try to kill me anymore.