A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?"--writing prompt

The night was dark, the stars unusually dim. The cold, Nebraskan wind intruded through the small house's windows, a burglar in the night. It was not, however, unaccompanied. Five small, glowing orbs followed the wind, twisting, rising, and falling with the slight current, like one great, synchronized dance, eventually sweeping them through the open window.



Kade Finch was seven years old, and sleeping blessfully at the time of the breech.



A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?"



"Hmmmm...he looks annoying," was the reply.



"Oh stop it," rataliated the first, emphasizing the point with a swift blow to the head.



"It'll take a lot of work, "continued the secomd, unfazed, "and will most probably fail, but, yes, he's the one they've chosen." He concluded with a deep sigh. "Just look at him, though, Aris; it's revolting, "he said, his face twisting in sincere agony.

"I'll admit, he is a gooddeal uglier than we'd hoped."

The two tilted their heads to one side, thinking that pergaps a different angle would improve his looks. It didn't.

"we can always make him wear a mask. Or a helmet. Or even wear a paper bag with eye holes! Either way, it matters not. Our orders are to bring this, this--thing back to the Queen. If they decide to behead him there, that's his problem. Come on, the twilight hours are beginning again."

With an exasperated and heartfelt sigh, the two faeries began to weave the treads of reality around the creature, encasing him in a casket of magic. They then proceeded to make the long journey home, stopping only to ask the guards how everything went. Seeing that all was well, they proceeded through the twilight forest, through the webs of existence, onward. Home.