She disappeared. In the wafting haze of ashes and smoke she dissolved like an illusion blown by the wind. Flames licked over shattered marble and lamentations mixed with songs of triumph. A war had found it's end and the leader transformed into fog as if she fulfilled her destiny and turned the world her back for good. So they murmured after a while, when they didn't find her.
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In solitude a figure walked into the shadow of a cave. Her posture crooked, her fingers clasped tightly in the long coat that covered her body. Slackingly she moved forward. Stumbled ober stones and sliped along the harsh wall. Would there have been other ears to hear at this place, then the strained panting would have been noticed. The rattling breath and snarling paint that fluttered from below her hood, whenever the wound silently screamed.
Rumbling she fell down. Landed with dull sound on her knees when her legs failed to carry her on.
In front of her the moist ground glimmered. The last light of twilight seeped through holes high above her head. Cold creeped under her clothes and wraped around her skin. But maybe it was the other way around and she made the cave freze because she lost her warmth with every second. It dropped behind her on the ground. It left small red spots that sticked to stones or disapeared in moss.
On this day something got clear to her. Something that that she forgat about for way to long and that returned belated in her of revenge, hate and anger drunken mind. But that's the way it was with bad things, one only realized them when it already was to late. When it couldn't be changed anyway.
The slim, pale fingers of a woman pulled back the hood. Her nails were broken and stained with dirt, Her skin was grey and her hair was a clutter of long strawy black knots. Once she hed her chin held high and proud and showed her teeth like a courageous wild animal. Now it seemed as if she shrinked with every fleeting moment that went by. Her lips trembled and her voice croaked when she tried to speak even though there was no one that could have heard.
Once strong.
Once surrounded by all the others, embraced by the warmth of a community and the burning fire in her own.
Now weak.
Now alone and abandoned and shattered. Stabbed, to be precise.
She never realized how cold iron could burn so hot, when it was slashed through ones flesh. As if the metall recognized the bodys warmth mistakenly for it's birth out of the forge and glowed up in joy. Even now it burned. Atleast a bit. It turned into a tingle in the numbness that coated her like a heavy blanket.
She sunk to the side. Her eyelid closed over a watery gaze.
Somwhere something rustled in a corner. Maybe a mouse, a frog or whatever else could be found in deep caves.
On this day a lot of things got clear to her.
She regretted what she did.
She feared the dead.
And dying could be agonizingly long.
YOU ARE READING
The Legends of old Lies
FantasíaUsually, those who died actually stayed dead. That was how she always saw it - the witch who threw the country into chaos when she decided to rebel. She died lonely and freezing, full of remorse. Or at least that's what she assumed, because all of a...
