On January 19, 2022, P.T. Wyant posted a Wednesday Words prompt involving scissors, a waterfall, and a house on the hill.
The freebie Tale of the Navel from Peter’s perspective was the result.
The two blades clipped the long strands of silvery-white hair. The cat and the dog grinned at each other from each blade they were engraved upon, watching each lock fall glistening to the ground.
Peter caught one in his hand before it could hit the grass, glancing over at the spray rising from the casade of water nearby.
“Don’t pout, Dyvian,” the dark-haired young man wielding the shears said to the former owner of the silvery hairs sitting in front of him. “You’re no longer a blossom of the Gardens of Arachne, nor my kept boy. You’re Lord Dyvian Ashelocke. Leiwell’s lord has no need of such long hair, does he?”
“You were Lord Ashelocke once.” Lord Dyvian Ashelocke shot a critical eye as cold and crystaline as a glacier at the one with the sheers. “Lord Stefan Ashelocke, yet here you are, cutting my hair. If you’re even here.”
“Excuse me,” Peter ventured, taking a step toward them. “Where is here?”
“My secret place for secret trysts.” The dark-haired hairdresser, Lord Stefan Ashelocke? offered Peter a toothy grin. “At the base of the waterfall below the house on the hill.”
“Now, Master,” Dyvian chided. “It’s not just a house on the hill. It’s the Temple of Seraphix where Seraphix’s Sisterhood retreats from the world.
“To me, it’s just another house on the hill.” Dyvian’s master shrugged. “No matter what monsters choose to hide in it.”
“A monstrous Sisterhood?” Peter asked with some lightness, unsure if he would be taken seriously.
“A Sisterhood of failed monsters,” Stefan replied, eyes glinting. “Until they awaken.”
“You’re so intolerant.” Dyvian closed his eyes. “I intend to build Seraphix’s temple upon a hill myself.”
“You would.” Stefan rolled his eyes before clipping another lock. “Why worship a god or some other entity when you can be master yourself?”
“To share power rather than horde it,” Dyvian retorted. “It’s a good idea. It may keep the power from corrupting us.”
“We’ll see just how good your other Followers are at sharing,” Stefan scoffed. “Not to mention yourself.”
“I’m willing to share.” Dyvian frowned a bit. “I’m more than willing to worship another.”
“You want to keep Leiwell and his family to yourself.” Stefan clipped another lock. “Just as I wanted to keep you and Duessa to myself. Just as Duessa wants to keep Damian to herself.”
“You know Duessa and Damian?” Peter asked with some wariness, glancing from the dark-haired hairdresser to Dyvian, trying not show his interest and antipathy.
“I ought to.” The dark-haired man grinned. “I’m married to one and the father of the other.”
“And I’m Duessa’s adopted brother which makes me Damian’s uncle.” The silver-haired man turned a mesmerizing ice blue eye upon Peter. “You ought to know me. I’m the one who sent you to Omphalos. I’m currently directing you toward your destiny.”
“What?” Peter rolled over in bed, aware he was in bed, dreaming, yet still speaking to these two beautiful men. “What destiny is that?”
“Divinity.” Dyvian offered him another bewitching smile. “I’ll make it so Paul and Christopher can no longer resist you. I’ll introduce to that little green flame and cool gust of blue you’ve been seeing.”
“How?” Peter demanded, sitting up in bed, but it was too late. The vision was gone. He could still hear water falling, but it was on the other side of the screen door of his bedroom in Gabrielle’s sanctum. It wasn’t really there.
He sighed, lying back to ask the ceiling. “Why do I always wake up just when my dreams are getting interesting?”
The ceiling did not answer.
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