Mil: Prodigal DaughterThe man who closed the door to the kitchen stunk of a very pungent, musky smell that the young girl, sitting on the counter scrunched her nose at. It was disgusting. A very putrid smell to be stuck in a room with. She looked downward at the bunched up hem of her dress and sucked in a harsh breath. Biting her lip, she rolled over in her hands the tiny, sharpened piece of flint that she had stolen from him and scraped it against her thigh.Mil: Prodigal Daughter1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Lady Redenelle said she saw you climbing down from the window of her son’s trellis the other day.” The man stated. She shrugged, asking him, “And what of it?”
As he rounded the small, recently polished little wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes were to the ground. He searched helplessly for some kind of thing to say. He tapped his fingers across the wood. The girl scraped the flint against her thigh.
“And what of it?” His voice raised as he her do it out of the corner of his eye, and so did his