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Writer's pictureRob Johnson

Castle Mortrouge -- FWG Flash Fiction for 1/7/2023

Hello, again! If you've been following along, you know I took a break from the Fiction Writers Group, but also from Facebook in general for the last few months. I'm back now, at least in a limited capacity. The one thing I missed the most during my hiatus was FWG's weekly flash fiction prompts. Until today!


Here's this week's prompt:



Castle Mortrouge


The Uber pulled up to the front portal of the castle. It was dark and looked abandoned.


“You sure this is the right place, Love?”


Danielle looked at the address in the confirmation email and the current location indicator in Maps. They matched.


“According to Google it is. Can you wait a minute?”


“Sure thing, Dearie. Let me get your case from the back.”


Suitcase in hand, Danielle raised her other hand to knock when one of the two massive doors swung slowly open. A tall, thin man dressed in a waistcoat and tails stood just on the other side of the threshold.


He bowed slightly and said, “Good evening, Ms. Devers. Welcome to Castle Mortrouge.” He reached out a white-gloved hand. “May I take your case?”


Danielle handed it over. “You know who I am?”


“You are the last to arrive this evening.” He looked at her sweater and woolen skirt and sniffed. “You have just enough time to change before dinner.”


Then he turned and strode down a long, dim hallway. Danielle waved her thanks to the Uber driver, then followed. The door closed silently behind her.


***


Every head in the room turned when Danielle stepped into the Drawing Room. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her bare back. The strapless black gown hugged her body like a second skin, its slit revealing her perfectly toned legs. A large ruby pendant sparkled in the candlelight as she strode to the center of the room.


Guests’ smiles revealed sharp fangs as they took empty glasses from the serving girl who stood mesmerized by Danielle’s gaze. With a flick of her fingernail, Danielle opened a vein in the girl’s neck and let the deep red liquid fill her glass.


Licking her own fangs, she called, “Let the feast begin!”

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