The spell had existed, long before she’d begun chronicling by gathering their hair. Candle-lit, she bent over the long braid, a weave of auburn, nut-brown, curly black, and her own pale blonde.
She’d discovered her three friends intertwined in a drunken Midsummer meadow. She’d been forgotten once again. Her heart cried betrayal.
When had it begun?
She turned the braid and saw the place where her strands had loosened, as theirs grew closer. “There!” she hissed.
Tearing at the strands, she stopped.
She pressed them to her face, inhaling.
Sighing, she set her clever fingers to reworking the braid.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2017)
Carrot Ranch Prompt (06/29/2017): In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about something frayed. It could be fabric, like a flag or garment. It could also be nerves or temper. What is it to be frayed?
Valley of the Trolls 
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Oh, there’s much potential in this spell casting — fear or favor, friend or foe, love or jealousy — a heady tonic for a complex character. And such potential for plot twists, too! I enjoyed this as a flash.
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