These are my entries into the Weekly Wattpad Contest by @Contests that I judge. And maybe just one or two contest entries into contests that I don't.
How fun.
Key:
[W] Weekly Wattpad Contest
[F] Writing Fury's Weekly Contest
[P] Pedantic Prosody
[R]...
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The final change overcame him sometime in late September. It was very rapid, unexpected, and gained wide notice among those of us curious enough to wander from the rooms. The air of expectation and suspense hung in the atmosphere like a built up charge of electricity, proliferating the previously ill-concealed rising of perfect triumph.
He was particularly eager to engage in public demonstrations of the things he learned when he was locked up in his own room, despite his previous need for secrecy. It was only natural to want to rejoice in his work.
But the few public demonstrations he failed to abstain from had astonished us with his rapid and exponential progress in the chemistries of death. Cerwin would have been burned alive for witchcraft and dealing with the devil, had any of us in the House of Set been interested in such ceremonies.
Even so, his dealings with the dead had an unsettling connotation. When he first revived the rat Serena had devoured in a feral moment, I felt that superstitious chill rise in my spine. He announced it proudly, dropping the half-corpse onto the dining table where Roman and Serena were indulging in other delicacies. The thing lay for a moment, then slowly struggled to its paws, and remained there, sitting.
It's eyes were cataracted, it's fur had fallen out in clumps on the half of it's body that still remained, while the exposed innards on the other had dried up in a macabre portrait, as if cauterised by the cool air in the house.
Roman's face was one of vulgar disgust, while Serena took a peculiar interest in the little creature. I noticed how it wasn't breathing, yet it's body seemed to rise and fall in those natural rhythms. Serena reached out to touch it, and it remained sitting on the table.
Cerwin was a beacon of pride in his work.
I looked at each of the other vampires in turn, and then back at the rat. It was dead, but not the way were. This beautiful gift of our unlife was a divine gift, and Cerwin was dabbling in demonic curses.
He had done something only the gods had done before, and dragged a life back from death. IT was crude, disgusting, flawed, and not a graceful blessing like the way I knew it.
But Cerwin was a scholar. In the years to come, he would refine the art, and doubtlessly very closely emulate our own condition.
I just feared what would transpire until then. Even in my death, the King of Worms unsettled me.
