Perhaps fittingly, after a week of dream posts, I’m finally ready to share this short story. It was based loosely on a startlingly strong dream I had, years ago. I wrote it down immediately but somehow just never finished it. The worst thing a writer can be is precious about their work, so here it is, reworked, as a PDF link below.
Sythe was staring at the young man in front of her. Too young to be an ambassador. He should never have been sent by his homeland. Her heart was beating hard, shaking her whole body. She used her focussed breathing, as she had been taught. She closed her fingers around the stylus until it dug into her palm, focussing her anger into one tiny point. It was simply a matter of control.
The white light flickered as a drain came upon the power. Her concentration broke. Sythe gasped. She looked around swiftly. No one had noticed the torn little noise. This was a safe place. She must stay still. She stared at the back of his head. Control.