With Soaked in Fear done, I turned my attention to the origionally scheduled first piece of micro-fiction for the month, the latest entry in my Tattoo series. Some choices are loud. They are made in the heat of passion or defiance. However, there are others that arrive quietly, their gravity felt in the stillness between the words. This story lives in that silence, where the line between art and magic blurs. It’s a story about trust, consent, and the unseen cost of creation.
In Lucas’s workshop, every tool tells a story. Each glass vial shimmers with its unique purpose, and the air itself hums with something that feels alive. Yet beneath the ritual and craftsmanship lies a deeper question. How much of ourselves do we offer to the things we create? And how much of them remains when the work is done?
Elouise stands at a threshold. She has been asked to take her first step into a new world that honors both beauty and burden. It’s not a tale of danger or spectacle, but of intimate conviction. What follows is a moment caught between fear and magic, where the quietest decisions echo the longest.
Come, sit down and allow me to give you a mini-escape and kindle your imagination.
Elouise cradled the proposed tattoo in her hands as her eyes shifted between the simple design and Lucas. When silence settled between them, he reached out and gripped her shoulders, shifting her gaze to his. “If you’re still willing, we can start preparing for your first binding tomorrow.”
Her gaze dropped from his warm eyes to the vial of inky powder. With trembling fingers, she lifted it. Its weight felt wrong, as if it had tripled since the last time she clutched it. “You’re asking me to trap a soul. How do you justify doing that?”
Lucas didn’t flinch.
Yet one of his guests emerged from his arm and slid behind him, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck. “It’s not trapping souls when we desire it. This process is built upon mutual trust.”
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