Tuesday, August 9, 2016

100 Words a Day 897


The night sky was clear. The green moonlight spilled across the low hills of Halavard, turning the white grass the color of pond scum. The few nocturnal creatures that normally prowled the dark were ensconced in their burrows, avoiding the selenotropic fragrance of the black lotus. When the moonlight touched its purple petals, it expelled the inky mist from which it drew its name. The deadly miasma dispersed between the hills, but didn’t settle there. A light breeze pushed the black cloud into the plains and towards the small town of Ekerad where the residents had recently gone to bed.  

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