This 8-10 sentence blog hop is hosted by The Weekend Writing Warriors. (Click the link for the list of participants, or rules if you want to join!)
This is from an unnamed, just-started WIP, with the placeholder name of “Bluebeard,” because it’s very loosely based on that fairy tale. Every year on the Winter Solstice, a sorcerer takes a sixteen-year-old girl as his bride, divorcing her and exiling her before he takes a new bride the next year.
He walked down the line, glancing at each of us indifferently, briefly pressing his hand to ours, seeming barely willing to touch us.
As he drew closer, I studied his face. He wasn’t ugly at all, with a straight nose, clear skin the warm gold brown of the northern part of the kingdom, a generous mouth flattened by his tight expression, and light eyes. Finally his fingers brushed my skin, and heat stabbed through my body, sparks showering from our hands. He dropped his and turned away, leaving mine stupidly extended until I tucked it into my skirts, blushing.
“Come on, then,” he said over his shoulder, impatient.
“Me?” I asked, even though I knew the question was stupid–of course it was me. Me, to be married to this strange man.
* * *
This story is very loosely based on Bluebeard. The sorcerer is cursed, and the brides are caught up in the curse, though the nearby villagers don’t know how or why. He keeps the kingdom safe with his magic, and his brides tie him to a land he couldn’t otherwise protect. There are other ways to do this tying–but his curse demands a bride.