Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Fifty-Six

Ellath. Conceived on a tombstone in a frenzy of drunken lust. Nobody’s child, who grew daily in beauty. Men watched her through the corners of their eyes, while women hated her. 

Until the crops failed.

Ellath lay bound to the altar, with her mouth tied, watching the fat priest’s fingers fumble about her.  The doors of the Sanctuary opened with a great crash, and that which stood there breathed the cold of winter. The villagers cowered in deathly fear.

When they dared look, Ellath and the old god were gone.

They swear she laughs at them from the north wind.

©️jj 2018

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