Standing high above the village, she swallowed her tears. What is done is done, my family or the village. At midnight, in five minutes, she will douse the village below in the Flame of Death, a flame conjured only by a sorceress and will not go out until everyone is dead.
Slowly, she pulled her hands out of her coat pockets and stared at her scarred and batter palms. What have I gotten myself into? She asked. Powerful but so what? What have I achieved? I abandoned my village. I promised my people protection and I abandoned them and now I will choose my family over the village. How did I become this person?
Snap of branches sounded behind her. She didn’t turn around. It’s time, she knew. She gave a quick nod and closed her eyes, letting her tears fall. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Teeth clenched and eyes filled with a golden glow, she turned around as a loud explosion sounded from the woods ahead, from where her family were being held.
I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.