FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 70: Snake in the Garden

...

Across an endless empty canvas, colors drifted aimlessly, blindly; aware of nothing but the loneliness of nothingness. Had they arms, they would have reached out; had they eyes, they would have sought out; had they voices, they would have cried out, but they had none to speak of. They had no shape, and almost no substance: fragments of raindrops fallen far from their clouds, and further from the sea once called "self".

In their confusion they wandered, desperately searching for something they didn't know, and guided by the movements of the water around them: pushing and pulling the colors towards one another as if to say,

COME, CHILD. WHERE ELSE IS THERE TO GO? OR ARE YOU THAT AFRAID OF YOUR SHADOW?

The colors were afraid of the darkness, but the shadow was not as oppressive as the solitude of emptiness, and so, guided by this call, they came together once more, and painted a picture both new and old: never-before seen, but known all along...

...

She became aware, and found herself once more in a grove, though whether it was the same as the last couldn't be said; it was hardly recognizable. While the last grove had shown her the beauty of a bountiful Spring, whatever season had been was no longer: the trees were barren, the grass was dry and brown, and there were no flowers or animals to be found, naught but one: the same musician as before.

His eyes had always been sullen, and his skin had always been pale, but now he especially looked like a ghost, and, in her twisted mind, was indistinguishable from a walking corpse. He leaned against that same tree, which now bent over like the crooked, skeletal hand of God, pointing deeper into the wood. He plucked at his lyre. There was no tune or melody, he simply plucked, all the while his body and soul sank lower and lower, threatening to bury him completely.

A wind made the forest shudder, and the crooked finger of the tree waggled with desperation, as if to warn the corpse-like musician of the predator that was approaching...

The bohemian stepped out of the brush and into the clearing. His lips were terse and serious, and yet a certain light gleamed in his eyes, which seemed all the brighter with the sun hidden behind the clouds.

"Ah, Orpheus, there you are," He sighed, though it was closer to a groan, "I had a feeling you might've had something to do with all this."

The musician, Orpheus, looked over at the bohemian with tired eyes, the whole motion seeming to take far too much effort.

"Go away."

"Now, now, Orpheus, wasn't it you who lectured me about scaring away the animals?" He picked at a low-hanging branch, "Not even the leaves can bear your company, now. I can understand not liking humans, sure, but are you really so infatuated with solitude that you'd cast away even the flowers?"

The trees around her creaked in the wind, though, to her ears, it sounded more like a growl.

The discordant plucking stopped, and, slowly, shaking like a newborn fawn, Orpheus pushed himself off the ground,

"I don't need your pity."

"It isn't pity, friend, it's concern- and not just for you either. You're not the only one who enjoys the company of these woods, you know. After all, what's a farmer to do when Winter strikes in Summer?"

"You're a farmer?"

"Of a sort, yes. I own a vineyard."

"Oh," Orpheus hung his head, "I'm sorry. I suppose I haven't really though too much about it. My music always made this place come alive, I don't think I realized it could do the opposite."