An unseasonably warm and light rain misted the lake, dampening the stone entry to Alysia?s home with dappled spots of grey. The surrounding gardens, wilted from frost and ice, welcomed the false spring with a surge of vibrant green. Birds twittered in the trees, and a lanky kitten with a wildly lashing tail stalked them, apparently immune to the intermittent drips of rain. It was an idyllic scene, save for the enormous and festive 750 lb fruitcake tin parked on the steps before Dark Lake Manor.
The Fruitcake seemed to huddle under an overhang, fearfully avoiding the precipitation which could wreak havoc on its sugary, heavy constitution. As the temperature changed, and moisture condensed inside the tin, the fruitcake began to smell of dried and jellied fruits, brown sugar, and something unidentifiable. Although Jewell had not left it thus, somehow the tin had managed to wedge itself securely against the front doors of Alysia?s home. Perhaps a gust of wind, or a small earth tremor had moved it.
Regardless, it was there that the Priestess found the fruitcake, as she headed out toward evening to swim in the lake. The doors, she discovered, were stuck. Not locked, just seemingly barred from the outside.
Frustration led to irritation, which led inevitably to a burst of anger. A well-placed kick forced the door open and shoved the weighty cake enough for her to slip through the entry. She screeched in incoherent annoyance at the thing on her doorstep, then bent to examine the note on the tin.
?A prince under an evil spell?,? mused Alysia. ?Laser beams? Smells like that bakery Lucien used to go to.?
The priestess experimentally prodded the tin with her toe.
The Fruitcake seemed to huddle under an overhang, fearfully avoiding the precipitation which could wreak havoc on its sugary, heavy constitution. As the temperature changed, and moisture condensed inside the tin, the fruitcake began to smell of dried and jellied fruits, brown sugar, and something unidentifiable. Although Jewell had not left it thus, somehow the tin had managed to wedge itself securely against the front doors of Alysia?s home. Perhaps a gust of wind, or a small earth tremor had moved it.
Regardless, it was there that the Priestess found the fruitcake, as she headed out toward evening to swim in the lake. The doors, she discovered, were stuck. Not locked, just seemingly barred from the outside.
Frustration led to irritation, which led inevitably to a burst of anger. A well-placed kick forced the door open and shoved the weighty cake enough for her to slip through the entry. She screeched in incoherent annoyance at the thing on her doorstep, then bent to examine the note on the tin.
?A prince under an evil spell?,? mused Alysia. ?Laser beams? Smells like that bakery Lucien used to go to.?
The priestess experimentally prodded the tin with her toe.