Microdosing - 100mg of a Grimoire
Spooktober edition — Grimoire
Our spooktober prompt for today is GRIMOIRE!
🎃 Write a story in 100 words! 🎃
Bonus points if the story will have macabre vibes!
Don’t forget to tag me if you follow along with the challenge.
It rested heavy in my hands, bound in dark leather, passed from mother to daughter; its pages yellowed by the touch of a hundred hands and even more years.
I held it tightly, memories of my first potion and shapeshift resurfacing. It made me laugh, but tears mixed in. The grimoire held more than knowledge; it was a promise to my mama and granny that the legacy survives; the craft prevails.
Hours passed before I stepped down from the attic, smiling at my daughter, who had just befriended her first familiar. Just seven years old, this one, but the witches' blood was strong.
I placed the book in her tiny palms and watched her list the pages. Wide-eyed and curious.
Warmth spread over my chest as I felt a presence hugging me and a familiar hand resting on my shoulder. The craft prevailed. The promise was fulfilled.
This is an overdose on my part, but damn. I just loved howw it came out of my pen and I didn’t want to cut anything 😭
Also! This prompt has been in my notebook for months. I’ve written multiple stories on it, but for some reason my brain just kept coming back to kids discovering that their grandma is doing witch styled onlyfans… I’m glad I chose different direction.
PROMPT: GRIMOIRE
THE BROOM
The crops were destroyed.
And the villagers blamed her.
They'd loved her magic when she was making potions that could boost their romantic prospects, but now she'd accidentally unleashed a plague of locusts, they wanted her gone.
For good.
As they marched towards her cabin with their torches lit, she had to think fast.
So she disguised herself as a broom and hid in the corner of the kitchen.
They assumed she'd fled, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
But there was just one problem.
She now had no arms to open her grimoire, and couldn't turn herself back... 🧹😎🧹
100mg of Grimoire
Elliot pulled the tome from its resting place, a filing cabinet in an unused, unfamiliar workstation. It was a spiral bound operating system manual.
As he thumbed through, he found ferverous notes, suggestions, clues. The answer was here somewhere.
In a few hours, the life force of the room was restored to its once greatness.
Elliot paced in the green glow of the display, the grimoire still open on the desk.
A blinking cursor indicated progress. The time was close now. “Nuclear Launch Initiated” flashed at last. “I did it,” mumbled Elliot. “Our God is a consuming fire” he whispered.