A single night to change the rest of your life.
www.FeastoftheFallen.com
* * *
She opened the envelope wider, searching inside. Nothing else. No explanation. No instructions. Just a stupid website advertisement.
The bin was overflowing with paper, so she stuffed the envelope in her pocket and rushed to her shift. Later, when she reached into her pocket on the walk home, she remembered it was there. The library was a mile detour from her usual walk home, and Daisy sometimes stopped in just for the warmth and a change of scenery.
Once at a computer, she typed the address carefully. “Feast of the fallen dot com.”
The screen went emerald, and gold filigree bloomed from the edges. Intricate vines twisted into scrollwork that breathed words onto the page one letter at a time.
* * *
A single night to change the rest of your life.
* * *
She scrolled down, finding a survey of sorts.
* * *
When someone takes control, do you fight, follow, or test them?
* * *
She frowned at the odd question, a strange flutter in her stomach. Not quite fear, not quite excitement, but trembling anticipation caught between the two.
Not thinking much about the answer, she scrolled on.
* * *
If surrender were safety, would you still call it weakness?
* * *
Weakness was a word invented by people who could afford to be that analytical. When it was a choice between pride and eating, the label didn’t matter, but survival did.
* * *
What part of you becomes real only in darkness?
* * *
She scrolled lower, and a warning message appeared.
* * *
You’ve made it this far, but given very little in return.
This only works as an exchange.
Without trust, there can be no reward.
You must answer the questions to reach the reward.
Honesty is weighted higher than grammar.
