The old man grasped his staff with a withering hand, a hand that had an unnatural, claw-like quality to it. His cracked mouth twisted upwards in a queer smirk.
“It is time,” he rasped, his voice both hideous and luring. He’d waited so long for this. At last, at last he’d have the key, the key to his coveted freedom. In the dark chamber the man’s eyes gleamed a hypnotic, steel blue, and they flickered and glinted as the room vibrated with his hissing laughter.
Ceah woke with a start, beads of sweat shining on her forehead. Her breath came out in harsh pants, her chest heaving with the terror of something past. She didn’t know why she woke. It could have been a dream, except she didn’t remember anything at all. It might have just been some sound outside. She slipped out of bed with the intention of getting a drink. She was almost to the door when something caught her eye—
Kristin Nelson, literary agent extraordinaire, popped out of bed clutching at the sheets with white knuckles. Slowly her breathing calmed, her muscles relaxed. But it would be a long time before she shook off this nightmare. After all, she'd blogged about this how many times?! Surely, surely none of her requested partials for tomorrow would start with a dream sequence.
Opening: Ray.....Continuation: Pacatrue