Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Fourteen

I had always thought myself fearless. Walking the forest in the dead of night held no terrors for me. The anger of my father, with his hard hands and his leather belt caused me not a tremor.  Even the sound of battle and the smell of blood left me unmoved. So why was I frightened now?

He was just a man like any other man. So why did the lightless blackness of his eyes cause my knees to tremble and my voice to clot in my throat?

I stood facing him and he saw my fear. 

It pleased his soul….

©jane jago

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