As I mentioned on Monday, I didn’t really write last week because I was judging the Thursday Threads challenge. I’m also going to admit that I cheated a little. More about that in a moment. First, the prompt is: *He hated these games.* As to my cheat, the following snippet is a scene I’d roughly sketched out and planned to get back to and “fill in the blanks” so to speak. As it turned out, the prompt fit in fairly well, with only the addition of a letter to the phrase. And also, it’s longer than 250 words. Good thing I’m not being judged for the challenge, right? Anyway, I’mma just gonna drop this here and let y’all play with what you think might be going on. I’d waggle my brows and look smug but y’all can’t see me.

****
Aisling lay still, but for her eyes as she searched the darkness for what woke her. She heard it again—a sharp tap of something hard on glass. Someone—or something—was at one of the turret windows. She slipped out of bed and crept closer. A misshapen shadow was silhouetted against the curtains. She inched closer and pressed her cheek against the wall so she could peek from behind the drapery. A huge black bird sat on the roof. Was that a crow? Her eyes widened. Not crow, raven. Poe’s poem almost spilled out of her mouth but she caught herself, as did the raven apparently. He turned his head and beady black eyes stared at her. He all but glowed in the soft halo the street light cast.

The bird’s beak moved and words came out. She gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand as she strained to hear.

“Beware,” the raven said. “The Wild Hunt is looking for you.” The bird cocked its head, looking away. A moment later, it vaulted into the air on a powerful downsweep of its wings.

Aisling pulled back the curtain but could see nothing—not in the sky nor along the street. She glanced at the clock next to her bed. It flashed 3:33 at her, like there had been a power outage. Dropping the curtain, she scurried back to bed, crawled in and pulled the covers over her head. Birds did not speak with human voices. Nor did ravens fly at night. At least she didn’t think so. She’d have to look that up when she got to work in…no. She would not look at the clock again. She closed her eyes. She hated these games, had ever since they’d haunted her childhood.
****

So there it is. I have every intention of filling in some more blanks this week. Next scene up is a dream that Aisling is going to have. But…is actually a dream? Or…something else? *bwahaha* Writers, if you feel inspired by the prompt, write. Readers, how do you feel about dream sequences in books? Are they a yay or a nay? Inquiring writers want to know!