Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn Ya

Camille, swathed in fine linen and imported Italian velvet, lies in a half-awakend daze staring at the alarm clock she had just hit the snooze button on. Stretching out her legs and scratching her hair, she yawns a deep down from the diaphragm yawn, when she is startled by a metal-on-metal grinding noise permeating the room. A purple haze spreads about the boudoir, shading the room in a muted ultraviolet light.

A thunderous multi-layered voice in various harmonic pitches begins to speak in a surround sound fashion:

MORTAL FOOL!

Do you honestly believe the sissified potions and elixirs pumping through your bloodstream have anything against what is in this hand of mine? There are some spade jesters in the deck and a Queen of Blue so please make no mistake, there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t & couldn’t do.

She sits up and lifts the silk eyemask onto her forehead and looks around. Everything was still, nothing was out of place, no intruder in sight.

The voice continues:

I have quite literally destroyed entire galaxies. I’m consuming millions more by the second into my being even as we speak.
Meaning every bit of pain you’ve every felt since birth & beyond is not even one trillionth of my power. And believe me, mortal, this isn’t even my final form…”

“Excuse me,” she squeaks out, still looking around, unsure of where to direct her attention. “What does this all have to do with me?”

“I mean you know no harm. Really I don’t darling, it isn’t personal. It’s the Nature of the business. So, I’ve come to tell you…”

A cool breeze blows through Camille’s arm hairs, sending a shiver down her spine. She pulls the blankets up to her chin.

“You should be proud of yourself for making it this far, my dear.”

Gone in an instant. The purplish tint fades away into normalcy and the metallic grinding dissolves into silence before she can catch her breath and ask another question.

Once again, she’s alone in her boudoir, questioning if it was even worth ironing her work suit and wading through rushhour traffic, or getting out of bed at all.

Birds chirp a melodious tune outside her window and the preset coffee maker in the kitchen gurgles in response. Her cat crawls up from under the bed and licks her nose.

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