Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


November 13th 2017 in Microfiction

Stuart walked very slowly from the house, carefully balancing the box of supplies. When he arrived at the barn, he nudged the door open (then closed) with his butt. Inside, the structure was filled with radiant light, as if the sun had decided to try something new and set in that very spot. She sat up, her golden armor gleaming, her wings retracting to her sides. “Uh … hey,” Stuart said, stooping a little bit just in case he should bow or something. “I have food and drink and the first aid kit,” he said. He set the box down and handed her the bottled water (which she stared at, confused). “Water; you twist the cap,” he whispered, trying not to stare at either her sparkling blonde hair or the gashes in her skin that had stained her right side with blood. “Soup,” Stuart explained, watching her sniff the Tupperware container and then tear the lid off and empty the entire thing in a matter of seconds (sans spoon). “Okay … um … this next bit,” he said nervously. “I have the antibacterial moist towelettes and gauze and some ointment … and the sterilized needle and thread you asked for.” Stuart felt a little wobbly and handed everything to her, looking away. “My blood offends you?” she asked, leaning forward to see and stitch her wounds. “I just get squeamish is all,” he answered, hot with embarrassment. “And it’s kind of overwhelming to find an injured angel. I mean … I kind of feel like I’m hallucinating.” She laughed. “I am no angel,” she said as she worked. “I am a Valkyrie.” Stuart looked sideways at her sword, the impossible size of it, the curious writing forged into the design. “I don’t know what that is.” “Well, for your help, I will tell you my story,” she said, biting off the thread with her teeth (which made him shudder). “But, if possible, I would like more of that soup.” “Okay, sure,” Stuart said, scrambling up. “That baked potato soup is my mom’s specialty; that shit is the bomb. Oh … sorry … ” he winced, horrified that he’d been offensive, bowing more obviously as he backed away. “And an ale, if you have one,” the Valkyrie said with a smile. He bolted from the barn back towards the house and she leaned back, sighing. He was a curious and delicate boy, not what she would normally pick for a page, but he would do. She would need help to fight what was coming.

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