Friday, December 27, 2013

100 Words a Day 497

Ada Hatelace walked away from the scattered bodies, whose eyes were clouded by death, and approached the pedestal. The object she sought sat serenely atop the smooth, stone stand. It was difficult to discern the details of the figurine; it glowed by some inner light that forced her to shield her eyes, weakened as they were by the darkness.

Just as the old man said, she thought to herself as she picked up the statue and placed it in her belt pouch. As she left, she was keenly aware of the weight of the luminous sculpture bouncing against her thigh.

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