Corbin stood over the chest he’d come so far to find, the dragon dead behind him. It had been a fearsome battle, and the knight had many injuries. Still, it was over. The treasure was his. His lord would be happy. But he, himself, had an itch.
He wanted to know what was in the box. His lordship had rather sternly reminded him of his place. It was not for him to know. It was a rarity only those of noble blood could appreciate. He was to leave it sealed and return with it quickly.
Corbin popped the lock with his sword and the lid flew open. Hundreds of tiny luminescent creatures with gossamer wings poured out. There were so many that the room became too bright to see. As the light died down he could see the stream head out of the lair.
A few remained. One floated to land on Corbin’s cheek. He yelped as it bit him, panic rising as his face began to grow cold. His strength left, and he fell in a heap beside the chest. A glittering caught his eye. The fist sized blue stone calling his name was the last thing he saw.
C.M. Wellsmore 