Whitney Writes…

Fadiya’s eyes strained to see through the darkness and the fog. She had no idea where she was. There were no distinguishable landmarks that she could make out, nor any familiar faces to inquire with. There were no faces, at all, in fact. She rubbed her upper arms to keep the chill, and fear, from creeping in.

But… hadn’t she been…. inside?

The last thing Fadiya could recall was being in she and Ralof’s bedroom… She had yelled… He had left… But to go where?

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t find him here, my dear,” came a voice. It was a strange voice. One that was echoey, and yet flat, all at once. Low, and yet high. But with a strange underlying tone that indicated the speaker was on the verge of breaking out into maniacal laughter at any given moment…

Fadiya turned to find the speaker. It was not difficult. They stood out like a sore thumb against the dingy, murky landscape, their purple coat with the red embroidery glowing. A chill ran down her spine as they ran a hand through their elegantly mussed silver-white hair and smoothed their pointed beard with the other.

“That hubby of yours is off on a wild goose chase,” they continued, a grin spreading across their face. “And one of my best yet, if I do say so myself.” The grin spread from ear-to-ear and Fadiya could see everyone of their teeth. “And I do say so,” they growled.

“Who are you?” Fadiya demanded, finally finding her voice. Though… she knew the answer.

“Oh… oh, Queenie,” they shook their head, tutting, “we are off to a baaaad start, sweetheart, if you don’t recognize your dear old daddy.” Fadiya’s brow crinkled. They laughed wickedly, then stopped abruptly. “I jest, of course.” They smoothed the front of their gaudy jacket. “Really… I always think my colors should give me away, but then here we are: ‘Who are you, you foul demon!!!’“

“I… I didn’t call you a demon,” Fadiya said quickly.

“No,” they grinned that terrifying grin once more, “no, you didn’t. Which means you do know who I am.” They moved closer to Fadiya, so she could see the staining on their jacket. That which had appeared so gaudily elegant from affair, was grungy and dirty up close. They ran a finger along her cheek. “I want to hear you say it.”

Fadiya swallowed, the sound echoing so loudly in her ears she was certain they had heard it. Her eyes slid to theirs, the eyes of madness. “Sheogorath,” she whispered.

Inktober 2024, Prompt #16: GRUNGY🧡🖤👻🎃“