The Thirst

The house was as decayed as she was. A ruin.

Peril floated a few inches above the ground. She was covered in scabs that were not her own. In her arms was a man. She held him like a child as his feet tapped and danced across the floor. His dirty teeth gnashed and tore at the air. After a few more moments the man ceased to exist. Peril’s tongue probed the hole she had torn out of his neck, but he was empty. She threw his desiccated husk to the floor. Her throat was now caked with thick, congealing blood. She swallowed, but the thirst was still there…

She wanted something that she hadn’t tasted in a hundred years…

Peril sank down into the ruins of the house. Through the basement… past the foundations and through the sewer. Down, through the worms and the dirt… past the place where her bones lay. Through the layers of time and death and memories until…

Peril opened her eyes…

A garden. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were singing. The bright flowers were alive with the hum of insects. She was sat in a chair that she shouldn’t have been able to fit into. In front of her was a small table, a small tea set was arranged neatly upon it. Across from her sat her cat, Tiddles. An empty tea cup had been placed in front of each of them.

Peril reached out a small, chubby hand and lifted the empty teapot. She poured the imaginary tea, first into Tiddles’ cup and then into her own. “One lump or two?” She asked as she picked up the sugar bowl. Tiddles answered with a slow blink.

“I’ve missed you” She said.

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