Notte Snippet: The Golden Man Has a Temper

Oh, Notte. There you go again, insulting minor deities and causing a ruckus. (This is my WIP, by the way, called NOTTE. Feel free to read about it here!)  


“You do speak.” The golden man seemed pleased with this development. “You can therefore answer for your crimes.”

I did not want to answer for my crimes. I wanted my daughter back. I wanted the years back. I wanted all of this to go away. I would have no such luck today, clearly. “You can go eat dung.”

The dandelion man gasped. Evidently, I had broken a rule.

“What?” said the golden man.

“I said dung,” I repeated, delighted with myself and the new-found power of shocking words. “And you can go eat it.”

The golden man set me on fire.

Let me be clearer: this was not the controlled burst of flame one might see in a cinematic, enhanced by computer graphics or perhaps painted onto the scene. No, he simply lost his temper, and when he did, heat spread out from his body like a sharp exhalation. Flames ate the trees and turned the ground into ash, covering my body in a sharp, fast wave of pain. I could not scream; the air was gone, eaten by the fire, and for a moment, all I did was twist within.

It faded, more slowly than I liked, and I finally found the breathe to howl. It hurt, oh, it did; I writhed on the ground, wounded flesh crying out at the scrape of burned dirt, and when the pain faded enough for me to function, I was very, very angry.

The golden man did not expect me to stand again and try to bite his throat. No one expects that, generally.

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