Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 62

“Who raised you?” she yelled into the blackness. “I saw you dead
and buried. How dare you come back here and try to keep me from
my birthright!”
A crumpled figure hobbled out from the shadows. There in the
dim light of a single candle stood her dearly departed grandmother,
the mother of her father. A woman who had passed on into the next
life decades earlier. A woman whose lust for power was rivaled by
only one other. The woman with eyes the color of honey. The woman
in the ground.
“It's not yours to take,” grandmother hissed. “The tower and the
guardianship should have passed to me long ago. Besides, the
Guardians will never accept you. You broke the rules. You killed
your own kind.”
Her legs wobbled under her. How did that walking corpse discover
what she had done?
“What do you know about it?” she fired back. “You died years
ago. Your time is up old woman, why don't you tell me the reason
you're here?”
Grandmother took a step forward and held out her palm. A
glowing sphere of yellow energy began to form in her hand. Then,
like a pitcher, she threw the sphere at her. Its blinding light cut
through the dank basement air and blasted apart a portion of the old
brick wall behind her.
“I'm here to right a wrong,” the old woman growled, forming
another sphere in her hand. “I wasn't willing to let my own son stand
in my way. So don't think I'm above murdering my only grandchild.”
She drew back and flung the second ball of energy. This time the
powerful magic hit its target. Grandmother watched as her only
surviving kin broke into pieces like human glass.