The first volley of doom went unnoticed: a fleck of paint broke free from the prestige’s dome. Or largely unnoticed. Sheralin watched wide-eyed as the scrape tumbled down the building until she lost it amid the bustling crowd.

Red sat on the edge of the rickety, upper bridge watching the traffic on the lower bridge. Below she’d seem just another urchin child whiling away an unpromising a day.

“Eyes up, Callum.” The back of Veric’s hand rapped his head lightly as the man paced to the front of the room.

Few children were allowed to roam. Fewer still choose to. Not when the shadows hunted by day. And by night. Dane roamed no matter what any said, and because he did Arlea followed.

“Mother hates her.” Kiriel scrapped his tail over the stone floor as he arced around the small white dragon curled in the room’s single lighted patch. Her twitching tail tip was the only sign she’d heard him.

“I plotted everything to the minutest details. I knew every player involved. Their reactions. Their thought processes. Their abilities. Everything.”

Essie stood at the graveside as people drifted past her knowing very few grieved. No, most had come to gawk one last time at the village’s notorious ne’er-do-well.

Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction. Prince Jacob stood in the gallery ignoring the slow creep of the sunlight’s angel through the window as he stared at the painting. For the past hours he’d tried to tease out her expression. “Jacob,” the ever-nervous voice of Nathan, his…