Tuesday, April 3, 2018

100 Words a Day 1162

Illian returned to his wagon and stripped off his costume. He dipped it in the small bucket and hung it up to dry. As he did so, he noticed the spot on his hand. The makeup had rubbed off. He covered the midnight blotch with his other hand and looked hurriedly around. He was alone in his wagon.

There was a knock on the door.

“Just a second!” He rushed over to his chest and threw the lid back. He snatched the small jar of paste and slathered it all over the spot. He grew frantic when the knock repeated.

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