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Weekly Contest #338
A moment after Great-aunt Agatha sighed her last breath, my father reached out to quietly close the Grimoire lying beside her. The ancient, pristine book glowed immediately, pulsing in the bright blue of our royal family colors. I’d never seen it do that before. I swallowed a lump in my throat and pressed the back of my hand to the tears on my cheek. Auntie Agatha had been my best friend, and now she was gone. Father turned to the assembled family surrounding Agatha’s deathbed. “The High Sorceress is dead. There must be a Choosing. Don your ...
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