This is a little throw back to my fiction roots. A short story originally, written in 2016, I now converted it into 100 words.
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The Sorcerer’s Wife
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Our writhing bodies glistened with perspiration when he stormed in.
Most betrayed husbands would savagely behead the passionate lovers. Not the evil Sorcerer, he denied me the most exquisite finale of all; death in her loving arms.
He tossed a mystic powder. A purple dust cloud transformed Isabella into a doe.
Next, the Sorcerer converted me into the most loathsome predator; the hyena.
Now, I watch her grazing in the ominous forest; moving with a familiar grace.
For years I coveted beautiful Isabella.
Oh, the bittersweet irony.
As foul spittle drips from my hungry fangs, I crave her even more.
The Lonely Author 