The rules I chose to break:
* unattributed dialogue is BAD
* looking in the mirror to describe a character is soooo overused and dumb.
* using cliches is a no-no. Can't you think of anything original?
* white-room syndrome. K, pick between this one and cliche for which one I broke well, and which one not so much.
This is 350 words that could be an interesting story seed, I think.
For a list of the writing prompts I share, please see my Writing Prompt page :)
Fishing for Souls
“Will she manage?”
“She may not think so, but I have no doubt.”
“I do not share your faith. She is mortal.”
“For the moment, yes. Do you plan to actively oppose her?”
“I am tempted, just to prove you wrong.”
“Ah, then this will be interesting.”
Mirelle opened her eyes and looked around, feeling out of place and time. Her heart was pounding and her fists were clenched around the downy pillow. Pricks of feathers poked through the material and scratched against the callused palms of her hands.
Taking a deep breath, she sat up. Waking into the dimly lit room was little relief from the skittery shadows that had been chasing her through her dreams. Light peeked through the bent metal blinds, afraid of entering her room fully.
She needed to get up, she could feel it. A prickle between her shoulder blades nagged at her as she stood amidst the discarded clothing littering her floor. Something was watching her. Turning, she caught the reflection of her hair in the mirror across the room. It hung above her dresser at the perfect height to mock her attempts to tame the unruly locks. An ugly color, an ugly shape, always ending up in her eyes just when she needed to focus. The reflection smirked.
Setting her mouth, Mirelle picked up a discarded shoe and hurled it at the mirror. The light hiding behind her blinds flared as the mirror cracked. Now there were hundreds of hazel eyes staring back at her. Not all blinking at the same time. Mirelle grabbed the other shoe and crossed the room, slamming it against the glass with as much force as she could muster.
Shards of glass fell like crystal tears onto the top of her dresser and bounced down onto the floor. One caught and held a ray of light, glinting like a star. Mirelle picked it up, the sharp edge biting into the skin of her finger and felt power fill her as her blood covered the edge of the glass.
She had work to do, and the mirror was merely a distraction.