UFC #315

Shadowlight's Challenge

Use the prompt given below in green as the first or last line of a poem or short story.

Do not exceed 500 words.

In the recesses of fantasy the graces spit

THE SISTERS

In the recesses of fantasy, the graces spit, charred tongues burning, the juices of their lost desire still swelling on their tongues.  Not goddesses in the ordinary sense of the word, they were descendants of the Charites of Greek myth.  They had been named Thalia, Charis, and Grace -- the simplest names their mother could find to remind them of their heritage.  Her death had pushed them from the safe cocoon of anonymity into a harsh white light of expectations that they were each afraid they would never satisfy.

This latest disaster, brought on by their desire to take for themselves a moment of pure joy, had hurt more than them.  They looked around, as though one had spoken a command, and saw the carnage that their thoughtless actions had unleashed, and their voices soared in mournful song.  Tears streamed down their faces as they raised their arms and sang through the burning in their throats and the fire in their hearts.

Charis stopped first, lowering her eyes and arms, and waited for her sisters to follow suit.  They looked sadly at each other, knowing the ritual they were about to complete would never erase the memory of this day's events, and understanding that they had to learn from it, and never repeat the mistakes that had led to this.

"Let's prepare the circle," Thalia said, and her sisters nodded their agreement.  Breathing deeply, each woman turned slowly in a circle, moving in a predetermined pattern away from the others, turning her hands before her as she spun away from the others.  The further apart they grew, the brighter the light seemed to grow until there was a sharp point of light extending from the spot where each one stood.  They raised their arms again, their voices growing stronger as they joined their individual points together, and then they turned where they stood, watching as the lights above their heads moved with them to form a circle.

Grace spoke the ritual words of parting.

"May the spirits of these here dead be accepted into their eternal rest with joy and love.  And may those of us who remain be given the tools to keep our world free from the harm that befell these ones now gone."

The circling light descended, wrapping around the field on which they stood, and its glow intensified until the brightness was blinding.  And then it seemed to pass back into each woman, inflaming her for a brief moment in an iridescent fire. 

When the light faded, the sisters turned and walked toward the growing darkness.  The evil that had set this tragedy in motion was still out there, waiting for them.  They knew it, as they knew they had to learn how to defeat it before more lives were lost.  The next ritual they performed would bring the knowledge of their ancestors to where they needed it.  Ugliness and death reigned, and they must learn the way to return beauty and joy to their people...

(500 words)

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