Word-doodle of the day
Alice sat in the spire room reading the Tarot as she often did. The spire room was a princely three-sixty windowed room that had a dominating view of downtown Guelph.
As she turned the last row of cards, the peculiar began to happen. Before the card was even fully turned, the ink fled the card and cascaded up Alice’s arm and into her eyes. Alice persisted, obviously seeing beyond the cards.
Her eyes glowed black and filled with doom as she turned each card. When she finished, she swept the cards from the table and grabbed her journal and pen and began to write. As she wrote, blood oozed from her eyeballs, drizzling down her cheeks and dripping malignantly from her chin.
The date was rushed on the top of the page.
“Horrors abound,” her fountain pen inked beneath it, blood spattering around the words. “We are hunted,” she managed. Then, over and over Alice muttered and wrote, “The Sword….” The last word she wrote, “Uraniu,” was unfinished and scrawled and completely drenched in blood from her chin. Gouts of blood spilt from her eyes and she expired. She fell forward and covered the missive with her body. Blood pooled across the surface of the desk.
Outside, the city rumbled onward, not even phased a little by the death of Alice. The great grandfather clock in the room ceased its incessant beating and the hour read four o’clock, the hour of Alice’s death.
It would be some hours before you found her. Alice was dead. She was the best of you. She was gifted and intelligent and skilled. The husk of her corpse sent shudders through you all; for if Alice could be slain, then so could you all.