Reflected sorrows

Chapter 1

Celeste gazed hopefully at her coat, which hung limply on the door like a hand welcoming her into the outside- it poured with rain relentlessly, and she somehow wished that her friend had not declined last minute; but, despite her misgivings, she gazed upon the coat with something of familiarity. It was a shelter from the incessant rain; rain was common here- it almost always seemed to be brooding outside, suffocating in a thick curtain of fog that came together with the roars of thunder like a writhing wild animal, thrashing you about in every direction and making your ears buffet in the wind, powerless to stop the roars of anguish from piercing your ears and leaving you in a bath of agony. But that was common. She had no reason to fear that the wind may blow a tree into the road, despite its haunting whistling always lurking in the shadows like the master to the monster that writhed in cold metal chains; and though it was thick with malice, it was hollow- hollow as the madman's heart and as hollow as the cruel king's words of prayer. So, with cautious hands, she gingerly unhooked the coat, sliding her arms in and buttoning it up with a cautious sense of anticipation, the vile stench of oppressive mist choking her as she opened the door, smiling dully at the creak that heralded those hollow winds. 

Today the wind howled outside, louder than even the wolves in the mountains and drowning out the roaring thunder with its agonized screams. It wasn't meant to be stormy, but then the weather here was always like this- like a seething hand had placed its cruel touch upon the world and watched in glee as it yelled in pain. Her footsteps were barely audible over the sluggish raindrops- they were corpses falling from the sky, sorrowful and grieving as their last shallow breaths escaped and fled into the cold night, warming the air for a second before it turned to ice once again. If the rain was bodies, then the wind was blood. Blood screeching insufferable prayers into the night and getting no response but the disdainful, mocking laughter of footsteps wandering unaccompanied through the night. She couldn't help but feel a little whisper of grief in her ear at those hollow sounds of thunder rolling ominously in the distance; they were too kind to be cruel, and yet too harsh to be welcoming to anyone but the terror that seeped into her bones at the thought of what she was about to do. But it was simply cold. She shuddered, a dread eating at the hope she had remaining, frail and soaked in the back of her mind. Those walls- they seemed to crumble, but with malice no eyes could portray, and no poet could interpret. It was almost insidious the way they glared into her souls and intentions, choking out of her the sorrow she felt in the pouring rain and howling winds and replacing it with stale, phlegmatic fear. Fear further than a shiver in the shadowed corner of a prison cell, and yet dull; it was drearier and more potent, but black and white; drowned in melancholy. She supposed it was the fog engulfing the ocean of vivid amber, the leaves that slowly disappeared like the fires of a mask burning out and then revealing nothing but the bare bones of a candle wick, enveloping the world in unfelt sorrow. She knew it was ahead. There, in the near distance, lay an oppressive grief with smashed windows. And the cold air surrounding her offered no solace for her aching bones, riddled with a foreboding shudder.

Today felt odd- ever since she woke up, she had had a dull headache thrumming like a familiar melody of dissonance in her mind, pushing down on it until she just wanted to scream and cast it into a realm of unforgiveness. But there it still lay, writhing in the back of her mind as she came closer and closer to the gates. The long-ago shattered windows surrounded by overgrown trees. But the closer she got, the staler and more intolerable her torment was becoming. Dull and monotonous. Like ticking of clocks - one - two – three – four. It was incessant, but dull. Dull and unforgiving. Around her, the fog swirled into an impenetrable storm and enclosed her in smoke-like veils of apprehension. Before she knew it, or could even start to prepare, she was met with the gates to the path that would lead her to the dreaded, crumbling structure in the distance, barely visible in the incessant fog that engulfed the fiery amber trees, smothering their light. Her world was plunged into a pure white darkness that seemed grotesque to her senses and that choked her of all her frail hope. It lay there in its curtained, insidious disdain; and before her lay the gate that would take her there. It was dark orange with the rain slithering down it, and it loomed in front of her with those sinister spears of doubt; with a hand familiar to its uncanny creak as it crept open, she gazed apprehensively into the world of incessant moonlight and shadows- the gate welcomed her, with a note of forlorn regret lurking in its words. She cast a look of grief behind her, only to see slim silhouettes of trees and turned, her gaze falling upon that structure in the distance, almost skeletal in the mist.

With a heavy heart, she listened to the gate's familiar complaint as it opened; like jaws opening wide to reveal jagged grey teeth that stuck out at disorganised and scattered angles- they bit into the mist, tearing at it with their jaws and watching in glee as the insidious white curtain was ripped off its constraints, white cloth fleeing the scene as the gloom was lifted from the world, leaving a dull emptiness to the air that had once been filled with sorrowful regrets; it felt as if the pain of the fog as it was torn was hers as she took tentative steps through the night, the moon intermittently lighting her path; it was a lure bringing her closer to something she wanted, but didn't even know lay ahead. She sighed and tried in desperation to cast away those thoughts of grief. It was brighter now, almost as light as heaven itself with the white gloom almost completely lifted, but those silk remains still remained in frozen panic, mania glowing in their eyes as they tried to escape but fell, leaving behind a hollow residue of white; not blinding, and yet still an ocean of doubts for her mind to swim in, her boots just barely protecting from the rain. She found it strange that, even in her momentous journey, she felt a downcast sense of sorrow like a shadow creeping behind her, always lurking where the graves jutted up from the ground. Always haunting her insidious thoughts with melancholy; and she could not bring herself to gaze up at the precarious structure in the distance. It was looming, always the same distance away and yet seeming closer at every cursive glance towards its toppling brickwork; it was always there. Always a thought of panic in her mind- one that ruled over the others in a reign of terror, the thoughts of excitement evaporating into nothing as the true, oppressive burden began to set in. She was going to wander those halls with only a candle to guide her. But were she to trip, that light would flicker and die, alone and afraid as its intermittently dancing light went dark and perished. And were a gust of wind to weave through the house from a closed window, carrying word of danger, the shadows would have no armour to cut through, only the frail, thin flesh of a candle that carried no evidence. But if she were to turn back, what would become of her sights? If she were to turn back, those doubts would only be able to claim her.