Natasha Byrne
Stories (2)
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The Reckoning
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. In fact it hadn’t always been a valley. Once it had been a great city. The greatest of the continent- the world even. Kings would travel vast distances to look upon it. Coveting its opulence. Vowing for their own kingdoms to one day transcend its greatness. Until the notorious king of the great city got too greedy and took too much. His arrogance became greater than his city and he ultimately lost sight of his own mortality. We were only too happy to remind him. The very day one of our kin became enslaved we took to the skies. Our dragon fire devastated the eminent cities across the extensive continent. We saved the great city for last.
By Natasha Byrne4 years ago in Fiction
A Fever in the Desert
Not even a stiff glass of whiskey could calm Michael’s nerves tonight as he scowled at the damp black book on his desk – it was completely blank. The little black book belonging to Delilah. Or rather it used to belong to her. Michael took a large gulp of whiskey, reveling in the burn he felt down his throat and then in his chest. He longed for that burn or in fact any burn that would distract him from the grief of Delilah’s murder. His sweet, hauntingly beautiful Delilah – How could he live knowing he would never again hear her melodic laughter echoing through the halls of his large estate? Knowing he would never again feel the warmth of her touch or admire her witty parlance? Yes, he’d loved Delilah fiercely from the moment he saw her glide into the gentleman’s club. She’d met his gaze boldly, challenging him to look away even with his lavish title of Duke. After that night Michael cared little of his responsibility to marry a chaste lady of the ton and produce an heir to continue his Title, he cared not of the whispers and gossip surrounding him and he didn’t even care she had birthed a child to another man. Michael thought only of Delilah, completely bewitched by her and burned like a fever in the desert. A stormed raged outside the window of Michael’s study and yet the furious banging on the door still echoed thunderously down the hall. 'Who could that be?' Michael mumured displeased and glanced into the darkness outside, it must be the early hours of the morning he mused. Michael stormed past the servants who had heard the commotion and arisen to investigate, and threw the heavy doors open. A coachman stood in the entrance holding a basket, inside the basket a screaming infant lay, thrashing wildly. She was Delilah’s; she bore her flawless dark skin and fierce black eyes. Michael’s heart lurched painfully in his chest, the resemblance being so uncanny it pained him to gaze upon her. “Here” the coachman thrust Delilah’s little bundle into his arms, slapped a soggy letter on top and retreated back into the blackness of the storm. Michael hurriedly carried the child back to his study, set the basket down on his desk and carefully opened the letter. Delilah’s hand read: 'Michael – my love, if you’re reading this I can no longer care for my daughter Celeste. It is because I needed money for Celeste’s future, I desired for her to lead a life better than my tumultuous one. Celeste’s father is the Tsar, when I discovered I was with child I knew he would cast me away and so I stole his priceless matryoska dolls and sold them to the French court. If you’re reading this he has found me and likely disposed of me. I’ve hidden the money with Celeste; it is now please find someone to care for Celeste. I wish you and I might’ve had more time Michael. My endless love and admiration,
By Natasha Byrne5 years ago in Humans
