I
used to walk past that simple wooden door with its chain that said
something but did little. I knew I should not approach and go through
the door, yet that which was supposed to stop me was so pathetic it
seemed more like an invitation.
From the age of six I would wonder what was behind that door. At 13 I found out.
There were ten of them.
Dark wizards, all, with piercing eyes and crooked, gnarled wands.
Come to uncover our plot, they asked with a wicked grin before releasing me back into the world as a frog.
Return to pick another ending.
From the age of six I would wonder what was behind that door. At 13 I found out.
There were ten of them.
Dark wizards, all, with piercing eyes and crooked, gnarled wands.
Come to uncover our plot, they asked with a wicked grin before releasing me back into the world as a frog.
Return to pick another ending.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr
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