The Century Of Longing

Part 1: The Owl and the Hare

Tears of divine mercury solemnly glisten as they are poured onto the earth below. That which lurks behind the fleeting iridescence of moonlight prowls the rolling blackness, consuming those who taunt their predation. Nightfall devours all who surmise its graciousness. 

The pines worn and lonesome with time, whisper as the wind ruffles their branches, forever looming a menacing form against a dim clouded obscurity. Streams cackle against muddied banks, sinuous liquid once polluted by bloodshed empty into a pond eerily stagnant; as the rain pummels the surface, it stirs. Hidden deep within hushed-ness, the stir of an owl dominates the atmosphere, the death shriek of a hare divulging its presence. As it carries its kill atop the secluded treeline, rain pummels its feathers, sliding off like miniscule brooks. The fur of its kill; penetrable, sodden. The fir branch it chose overlooks an unexpected sight: A rickety cabin nestled in the land of broken desire.

Mildew stained wood, moss grew along windowpanes and poison ivy engulfed the rusted metal rooftop, riddled with sharp holes and jagged edges. Allowing water to rot internally. Surrounding the quaint eyesore, weeds and natural fauna (who have closed their petals for the night), grow upward toward the windows and along the disintegrating walls, waiting to squander what is inside. A golden glow expresses occupancy, housing forms of life who prefer to remain untouched by the outside world. A door of metal, the carbon fiber steel taste, guards the entrance as if it were the residences gargoyle- a further protector, or so they initially thought. 

Through the entrance and onward, against creaking warped floors, crooked oil sconces, bookshelves stacked with relics and ancient knick-knacks about to collapse, piles of harvest, meat dangling from dripping hooks- the face of solitude is prominent. However, those who sought confinement flourish. The land gives them a bounty beyond expectation. One would ponder their happiness, though that didn't matter. The souls that endure desolation are conquered by a fear unknown to many in this realm of fantasy, and sooner or later the fear will attenuate its toothy maw. For now, sanctuary is what they make of it, albeit not a choice, they depend on their own survival. "Why?" Many have mulled, and many have received the same answer. They are prodigious. 

Peculiarity rules the mind of judgment, often spawning a hatred that burns for their kind. Strange as they may be, they are not alone in this world- that in itself is more dangerous than being forlorn. One unorthodox being creates another, a cycle turgid with chaos and unfathomable consequences. War, mass destruction- depending on the being, the ending of all life. Luckily it has not come to that degree and if she can help it, it never will. 

"Mother?" The sleepy chortle of a child emulated the barren wooden walls, breaking the quell. The caster of the speaking spell resided in a room far in the back of the cabin, tucked betwixt winding halls to nowhere. The child's wish would come true, for whom he was requesting made her presence known; a woman whose aura reached her destination far before her physical body did, tainting the air with thick tar-like dread. Despite her intimidating demeanor, the child was nil distraught and instead felt her maternal comfort. 

"Yes, my sweet son? To what you desire?" She has entered, her voice quaint as the childs. 

"I wish to know.." He paused, sitting up from his rested position. A blanket of fur rolled off of his pale body, revealing unnatural peculiarities. Normal he is not, for the very skin that layered his being beheld blackened permanence, like that of a polar bear; sunless and scared deep. He reminded her of such a beast because he too had achromatic hair, untouched by a blade, it stretched beyond the bedframe and tickled the floor gently. His ire, arctic cerulean, bore holes into the woman with an insatiable curiosity. One that cannot be fed with idle acknowledgment. "From which you came?" 

Her initial response was a dissatisfied frown, an expression the boy knew well. He had requested this many times before, and just now as then she responded: "Your inquiry is dangerous my boy, there is none to know and none to share.. Get to sleep, or else you will become weakened."