Prompt: The Devil | by Megan
Elony stared down at the pale, green puddle that remained at the bottom of her cup. Small, dark flecks—tea dust that had escaped the bag—floated in the shallow pool. She twisted the cup in her hands, sending the dust spinning in the swirling liquid. She watched the miniscule movements as the leaf fragments settled again. Try as she might, Elony could not find a pattern, let alone meaning, in the suspended particles. The clatter of porcelain against metal shattered the silence as she dropped the cup back to the table, inadvertently knocking her spoon to the floor. She paused to glare at the raucous utensil before finally bending to pluck it off the cold tiles. After gingerly setting the spoon next to the cup, Elony slumped back into her reading chair. Across from her, the unreadable teacup sat complaintlessly, though part of its remaining contents had splashed onto the table in Elony’s frustrated outburst.
Not-so-absentmindedly, Elony lifted her hand from her lap, turning her palm towards her to reveal the angry, red welt at the base of her thumb. Even this burn took no shape for her, though it certainly had meaning, even if she couldn’t yet decipher it.
Ever since the painful mark had appeared—nearly two weeks ago now—Elony had been unable to read. The dust motes sparkling in the sunlight no longer shared their secrets with her. Leaves sent spiraling in a sudden breeze now danced wordlessly, as they did for everyone else.
Elony could not be certain it was the cause, but everything seemed to lead back to that mark. She had awoken in the middle of the night from another of her fiery nightmares, screaming in pain, only to find an actual burn on her hand. She remembered very little of the dreams themselves, which were now occurring with concerning frequency. She had had them every couple of years as a child, but ever since her thirteenth birthday she’d been waking up drenched in sweat, the ghostly heat of flames still licking at her limbs, more and more. Now it seemed that the spectral fires had caught a foothold in the material world.
Elony chewed on her lip like the idea bouncing around in her head. She had refused to let it plant itself firmly in her brain by giving it a body in fully formed thought. But after yet another failed reading, her mind faltered.
It could be a brand.
The brand of The Devil.
