The Duel

It was a hot day to duel. Too hot. But hot enough to die. A day to get revenge. Agnes stood sweating in the baking sun waiting for her nemesis, the witch Natasha.

Out from under the trees, Natasha approached with her second beside her.

Their eyes met.

Agnes smiled. The witch too was flushed. Served her right calling this stupid duel. Besides, she'd no chance. Agnes flexed her rapier just to show she meant business. The business of death.

"It's a hot day, isn't it?" Natasha said, her voice as calm as the sultry day. She undid her blouse and tossed it aside. "If I'm going to kill you, I'll do it in comfort." With a gesture of indifference, she pulled down her shirt to reveal her full breasts.

Not to be outwitted, Agnes followed suit. Now they were both en deshabille. Open and vulnerable for the point of a blade. A frisson took her.

"To the death," Agnes growled. She raised her rapier. "En garde!" And lunged.

***

A story idea inspired by a writing competition that uses a picture and topic and asks for the first paragraph. Well, a bit more, I guess.