Today's mini-excerpt is from "The Prophet Scroll," by Delilah Bell.
The storm began just as she left Capitol City Station, fat drops of hot summer rain that soaked the delicate fabric of her robes in minutes and plastered the material to her skin with merciless fi- delity. Tanis plucked regretfully at the ruined fabric. She should never have let Zia talk her into buying new robes for this night- mare. Such pointless vanity. Now, they were soaked and she had almost nothing left for frivolities like calling home.
Despite the weather, street hawkers still clogged every corner, peddling their Match Day wares.
“Commemorative t-shirts! Genuine and approved by the Sibyl himself!” one man bellowed, waving handfuls of soggy fabric.
They were in the Sibyl’s traditional black-and-silver scheme, though Tanis sincerely doubted he had approved anything that read ‘Sibyl Inviolate—The Celibate Prophet.’Then again, almost ninety years of unrelenting sexual abstinence had done unfortunate things to the man’s reputation.
“Laser pointers!” yelled the woman beside him. “Get your laser pointers here!”
The phallic silver pen lights projected images of the last Sibyl and her Scroll on the side of a call kiosk, depicted in flagrante at their last appearance as they predicted the loss of prophecy in the realm because of their own son’s inability to find his Scroll. The Sibyl, a petite woman in life, was depicted as a fierce warrior woman with wildly curling hair, crouched on all fours. Her Scroll, whom Tanis remembered from her school lessons as being a thin, scholarly man with a perpetually constipated expression in all his interviews, looked momentarily savage and distinctly unscholarly as he fucked her from behind, head thrown back, his trademark egret markings trailing their way up his arms and across his hips.
In a nice nod to authenticity, those, at least, flashed blue.