• April Aasheim

What am I Writing Wednesday

I am posting this a day later than I wanted, but check out what I'm up to!

Jaffrey shivered, feeling a surge of cold air whip through.

“It’s drafty in here, Sir,” Kirl said, looking at the open windows and dying torches. Fall had arrived, and the days grew colder, even if it hadn’t rained in weeks. “Maybe we should…”

“I like the cold! It keeps me sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” Kirl lowered his head, stepping back into the line of servants, all silently waiting for Jaffrey to call upon them. But Jaffrey found that most were clumsy oafs in the afterlife, except for Kirl, who was well-suited for death.

Jaffrey allowed one eye to drift towards the slack-jawed servants. They were a glossy, doughy, unnatural color, their shapes reminiscent of half-melted candles. Hollow-eyed blobs ready to serve, but unable to work the mental and physical gears needed to achieve their tasks.

The alchemists were the worst, their muscles turning to mush within days; but some of the soldiers retained a bit of their strength for a week or more, and that proved useful in stockpiling wood and securing the fortress. But the supplies were growing thin.

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