|Image © Claire Fuller|
What Lies Beneath
When life first stirred within me in forgotten ages long past, He was there, a paragon, fresh quickened from the very stuff of creation. We bestrode the awakening world and I was ever with him; Roland to his Charlemagne. But his pride grew and anger festered deep within him, poisoning his very soul. Millions fell opposing his tyranny, but, finally bested with my traitorous help, he was petrified, entombed for all eternity, me still beside him. I could not desert Him. But now he re-emerges, one chip at a time; freed by an artist’s innocent folly.
The sculptor must die.
This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers challenge