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She had a very peculiar definition of being romantic…

Pulling up the large sleeves of her gawn to her elbows, she bent down on her grimoire-like journal. Dipped in the crimson ink, her quill started scratching the paper religiously.

She wrote love with a passion that threatened to set every page she turned on fire. It only seemed fair that every scarlet letter she lay on her blank canvas contained a mix of both their bloods.

Heyyyyyy!!!

The loud cry interrupted her frantic hand. She smiled. She could use a break.

Coming, my Love! You obviously need more sleeping pills….

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This year, I am dedicating my A to Z Challenge to 100 words pieces of fiction, based on unusual (sometimes a little obsolete) words. If you’d like to get the full list of my challenge posts, just click here.