“Do you think to stop me with that little knife? I have come for your grandfather’s last sword, and I will have it.” Fierce and angry, the man advanced on Angela. “I have use for something that can steal men’s souls.”
Angela stepped back toward the main room of the cottage. Her heart hammered, but her hand was steady.
It didn’t impress the thief; he reached out to take the knife from her, to brush her aside. She twisted away, nicking him with the edge.
Colors rippled across the blade, and Angela met the man’s eyes squarely. “So do I.”
Author’s Note: I’ve read many tales of swords that steal souls, always awesome, showy things that betray they’re special. What if it was a humbler blade?
Leave a Reply