Challenge Submission The Lament of a Storyteller

[Lore N. Fables]

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒐 𝑰 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆. 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒈𝒆, 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆.
~ 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒆​

The night had the telltale signs of the cliché horror flick that dared the reader's eyes, but the woman standing at the top of the eerie hill with another on their knees, flashed when the lightening danced across the ebony sheet that acted as the night's sky. Closer the onlooker would become to the pair and upon another strike of the God's wrath, the observer could clearly see in the woman's hand a still-beating heart that had been ripped from the chest of the kneeling party. W-why was this happening? W-w-what had that person done to deserve such a Fate?

"She cared," a ghastly rasp of a whisper sounded softly behind the echoing thunder. The wind wiped the long flowing and almost sheer cloak of what one would expect Lady Death to wear.

"Is that really a reason to relieve her of her life?!"

"I relieved her of what was broken," Lady Death whispered, the cracked and blackened lips did not move, though she seemed to toy with the heart in her hand. "A tale ended and so shall she…"

"Alright, that makes no sense. I'm calling 9-1-1."

The voice cackled, louder it rose until it threatened one's ears to bleed. "It was not to make sense for you, stupid one! It was her time! Ember asked and I answered…"

Ember? That was—

Another flash of lightning accompanied by the cold splash of the storm relieving itself of its burden, the dark figure now, in the opposite direction, with what looked to be a new victim, already kneeling before her, begging to be spared. A fantastical-looking creature with hair that shone silver, even in the storm that surrounded them. She lay down a long wooden rod with a blue orb attached at the top and the recognition of this creature gripped the one Lady Death had referred to as stupid.

"Please…" Was all she had whispered and before the next flash, Lady Death had answered.

With a blade that manifested itself from the hand of the Death-bringer and one swift stroke of the will-created weapon, the fantasy creature, known as Elindra, lay lifeless and lacking the beautiful head that once sat upon her shoulders.

And so it went until the only two standing had been that of Lady Death and the reader who now realized that she was the creator and storyteller of their lives.

"Do you now see," the cold raspy whisper teased, lifting a gnarled, poisoned finger in her direction? "I. Am. You. And… You… Are… Me…"

"No," a panicked voice rang out in a voice the storyteller could recognize. "It's not so! This is just a story!"

"Exactly, my dear," the voice grew louder and the laughter that followed had been almost unbearable. "And THIS! Is YOUR ENDING!!"