'For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!'
- Lord Byron, The Destruction of Sennacherib
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
*CONTAINS PARTS WHICH MAY UNSETTLE READERS*
Rolling my head to the side, my eyes slowly open to be welcomed by multiple stone archways and the cobbled ground I lay on.
The stiffness of my limbs and my confusion are enough to tell me I'm dreaming.
Why now?
I sigh and sit up, dusting the small rocks off my hand before lifting myself to full height.
The same thing surrounds me. Archs of stone, wells of black in-between extending for all eternity. Despite the grey sky, the air holds no chill nor warmth, it's light and free of any emotion.
"My apologies Your Majesty" I turn to the sound.
Her eyes fixed on mine, shoulder back. She stands tall in her white gown detailed in a gold thread which creates artwork of the sun and the nature it lights up.
"For?" I whisper my brows furrowed.
She lifts her head slowly. Her hair frames her pale features that seem whiter in the open space.
"For your losses"
Her words cool my blood and shake my soul within my body.
If I had control over my own mind I'm sure I would be reliving those images.
Her hands join before her. Moving her head back slightly her features grow harsher.
"I'm here to warn you" Her tone lowers.
"There will be more to come...and for the stability of your world I hope you pick your sides wisely"
I frown her words falling into my empty mind.
Fear flashes across her eyes, quick and easily missed.
"Never forget" Her words become distant yet her outline remains solid.
"Time holds all decisions"
Her words echo in my mind, hammering across the space. Narrowing my eyes I watch as her features morph into pure white, her eyes concealed by white and the stories of gold upon her clothes fade into the light-coloured nothingness.
Uncertainty hisses into my limbs, dragging my body a step backwards and crystal-like feathers appear from behind it stretched out upon two wings. Awe grows like a plant in my stomach, capturing my whole body in amazement at the archaic masterpiece before me.
Maeve
The art briefly becomes artifice at the thought of the demon whose power resembled such display.
I tilt my head to the side my eyes growing heavy.
Pools of red gather at its neck bleeding quickly through the fabric. I begin fighting the haze as silent screams of warning go off in my mind. The colour slides down the sheet and as it passes more spots of red break out from its body and infects the area till it's covered in red.
YOU ARE READING
Ocassum
مستذئبFlakes of snow drift across her face, distorting the light freckles on her cheek as they sway with the passing wind. She smiles against the elements; the corners of her lips move marginally at the sight of the figure before her. The edges of her ha...
