Anyone can join, with a 50-word vignette in the comments. Your vignette does not have to include the prompt term.
Carrigiana walked over to the table with obvious intent. She cupped her hands around the herbs as if to shield them, and her mouth moved.
And she snatched her hands away as flames surged, orange and licking at her fingers.
She bowed to Augusta, spreading her hand toward the flame.
For some reason, someone had changed his clothes, to tough brown fabric, cut in strange patterns: a tunic over a shirt, and breeches, and all the clothes laced, rather than buttoned.
His belt held a sword. Or rather a long dagger, and he did not know how he knew it.
The kitchen held only the brownies, but Mab looked up brightly.
"Good morning, my lady! What will you do today?"
"I don't know," said Halley. "They said I should not leave the tree."
"Pshaw. They don't know the spells' strength. You haven't left the tree until you leave its curtilage."
A door opened with such vehemence that it smashed against the wall opposite. Footsteps sounded. With all their obvious purpose, Cal did not look away from the glowing boy. Reminding himself that they could hurt him, with more than injections, and they came to keep him captive, he still stared.