Tangled amid the folds of her voluminous cloak, Mortabelle’s legs faltered, sending her careening to the pavement. “Ooof.”
Gripping the snath of her scythe, she hoisted herself upright. Her target had vanished. Good.
“You let her get away!” her father bellowed. A hood obscured his face, but Mortabelle felt his caustic scowl.
“So what? She’s only sixteen!” Such bullshit—to get someone her own age for her first reaping. “Why can’t we let her grow up?”
“We don’t decide. We simply collect.”
Mortabelle rolled her eyes. What a cop-out. Destiny commanded she’d run the family business someday. Then things would change.
Oh! This is good! Very well done!
An unusual story well told.
Great character! I like her sense of fairness!