Prompt for March 7: Four Lines of Prose about Fumes


[Prompt from .]

It came as a plume of lavender and sky, swirling from her sharp fingertips like tendrils of smoke from sticks of incense. I breathed in the rich scent of flowers and fire, soaking up every ounce of power into my pores. This was her gift to me, this unique control over the mind and body. As warmth spread to each fiber of my being, her body shrunk into that of an old gnome’s: a shriveled form no taller than my knee.


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