Sylva and the Devil
Microfiction | Night bends her misty arms about the wizened oaks. Cricket song and cicada drums stir fireflies to dance among emerald shadows.
Night bends her misty arms about the wizened oaks. Cricket song and cicada drums stir fireflies to dance among emerald shadows.
She walks the darkness cloaked in cobwebs and sweetgrass. Pond lilies crown her raven tresses. Sleek gray moss slippers her steps.
The demon follows.
Shifty eyes. Ram’s horns. Flickering tail. She knows he's there. Just as she knows he set fire to the swamp and littered bones all over her vegetable garden. He craves attention. She's not in the mood.
"What's the matter with you tonight?" the demon demands, trotting alongside her. Cloven hooves stamp impatient hearts into the lichen.
“They cut down Grandmother Cypress," she murmurs.
The demon falls pensive as tears paint a bleak channel on her cheek. His gaze turns to brimstone for a beat.
“Do you want me to raze their village?" he asks. "Or do you just need a hug?"
