Enter into Nightmares

Part 1

The stench of horse dung was strong in the air. The midsummer breeze catching the putrid smell and spreading it like wildfire around the city of Westmaw. Sunlight snagging on the brightly coloured stain glass of the local temple, different hues of purple, green, and yellow flickering across the streets. Groups of screaming children raced between the colours displayed on the ground, their dingy clothing transformed under the livid lights. Bone-thin dogs rummaged through the gutters, hoping to find their next morsel of food. Some lucky few were able to coax the shopkeepers to toss a few scraps in their direction. Wooden carts creaked as they were pushed down the cobblestone road, the wheels bouncing between the pebbles and jostling the contents inside. A melodic clunk of metal against metal could be heard from the local blacksmith, his hammer falling with perfect rhythm. Merchants were shouting from the local marketplace, their proud confident voices booming through the crowd. Ladies in fine clothing walking arm in arm with well dressed men, scoping out the stalls in the city square. Cream colored skirts and white gloves were glimmering in the bright light, blinding Ren from her window above.

The stone was cool against her skin, the cold seeping through her skirt as she sat leaned against the ledge, staring out the window. She was careful not to lean too far out, diminishing the chances for her to fall, and for the villagers to spot her. Slouching her back slightly, she rested her arms on the windowsill and gingerly placed her chin on her folded arms. The fabric of her gloves made her chin itch, the irritating sensation familiar to her. Loose threads tickled under her nose as she observed the town below. Ren focused her eyes on the women beneath her, on those lovely white gloves. She imagined the feel of satin against her delicate skin, of someone holding her small hand firmly as they danced at the Feast of War. She watched as the villagers of Westmaw went about their day, the couples flittering from stall to stall, focused only on each other. It made her feel sick.

    A small knock sounded from outside her room and Ren was immediately pulled from her thoughts. Standing from her chair, she gently carried it over to her vanity; careful not to drag it along the ground. She smoothed out her skirts, getting rid of any creases she may have caused when she was sitting. Her leather slippers made little scuffing noises as she walked across the rug on her floor, the dark red clashing with her lilac dress. She paused as she reached for the handle of her door, stopping to yank her gloves up over her elbows. After weeks of wear, the once pristine white was now tainted, and they were often slipping off her arms. Ren resorted to wearing dresses with longer sleeves now, to help with the visible skin when the gloves crept to her wrists. Releasing the breath she was holding, she reached out and grabbed the cold metal, yanking on the heavy wooden door. The rusted hinges squealed in protest and the splinted wood of the door groaned as she pulled.

Standing on the threshold of her room was an older woman, her wrinkled liver spotted hands wrapped around a long gnarled wooden cane. She had on a grimy brown dress with a dark green apron tied around her waist and her fine grey hairs were wrapped up in a tight bun on the top of her head. Before stepping into her room, the women raised her left hand. Lifting her hand to her lips, she placed her index and middle finger against her mouth, her thumb curling over to cover her ring and pinky finger. Ren mirrored the prayer. She stepped aside to let the lady through to her room and as she walked forward, her steps were slow; almost shuffle-like. She held the cane in her left hand, the wood clunking off the stone as she moved. Mrs. Crowless lumbered into the centre of the room and resting her right hand on her bony hip, her eyes wandered around the chamber. The space was dark, the only light was coming from the window to the left, but it was enough for the old women to see. Despite being ancient, nothing got past Mrs. Crowless. Dust particles flitted throughout the room, shimmering in the sunlight like little sparkles of magick. The blankets covering the large bed in the corner were all skewed, most of them hanging off and touching the floor. Jars of kohl and rouge were open along Kat's vanity, pins and brushes scattered around the desk. A polished sliver of glass was propped up against the wall, the reflective surface covered in fingerprint smudges.