The archive of the forgotten

Red head

Introduction:
Merry christmas and happy holidays ash. This is my christmas present to you. As you know I am using your poem for the basis of this chapter so all credit goes to you. I hope you have a great christmas and a happy and good new year.

Hair billowing in the wind
The curls as red as a scarlet sky
The eyes as blue as a lonely pond
Her bone white feet thread the earth as lightly as the ghost of the past
The ends of her skirt swishes like leaves in the wind
Oh if beauty was personified
If perfection existed
I'd be convinced she was real
The shape of her face
the colour of her skin
Perfectly suited for the burgundy locks behind her head
Oh how speechless I get
When I see the strands that glow like rubies in the dark

~Ash.

Heavy is the armour weighing me down inside of the mud that has turned into the colour of crimson, the colour of suffering, the colour of death. The blackness of the red concerns me as my head gets heavier with every step I try to take, my blue cape drags me back again into the blood of my friends. The scarlet staining my hands and the blue of my flag, the blood staining my ego and my pride. The red flowing from my stomach can no longer be stopped by my hand as the blood slowly turns cold in the merciless wind of the woods. Tugging onto my hair and clothes as to tell me something. I close my eyes and take off the crown that weighs my head down and remember the first time I ever saw a fox, it was stuck in the my father had set for bears. Its desperate squeels were only overshadowed by its agression once I came closer to him in order to free him. My father ordered me to leave the innocent animal there, that night I returned to the spot. I still knew mercy, I still knew humanity. But the Animal was gone, it had gnawed its own leg off, just to free himself of the trap. A fox, a clever beast, but his hunger for survival was bigger. I take a deep breath and unlocks the hinge of my leg armour and take out the bloody leg, The sharp pain is dulled by the fact that I can see a prospect of myself alive in the future. The rush shivers through my body as I try to get a grip on the snow covered ground in front of me. Chew through your bone now, small fox.....

With a muffled exclamation of pain and strife I manage to get myself onto the frozen solid land. Trembling of the cold and unknown I stand up, I can hear the battlecries of my soldiers, my father, my brother, all doomed to die in an ambush like this. As the red fluid escapes my mouth and abdomen I decide to try one last time, my bare feet make no noise in the snow as I stumble forward falling down and staining the snow, infecting it with the awful red of reality.
"I will not abandon you father, I will not forsake you brother." I sigh.
I lean against a tree as I try to keep myself standing, the lake in front of me is stained by blood of both the guilty and innocent. And on the side of that lake A woman is washing her clothes, her dress as blue as a nightsky, her hair as long as a human life, and red as blood and the scarlet sky inflicting our doom, her bare feet white as bone.

"My lady," I stumble as I walk towards her, the pain paralysed by surprise. "You must leave this place at once. You will not get out of this alive."
"I have been waiting for you Cinéad." She says, turning around as I meet her eyes that are as blue and deep as the lonely pond where narcissus fell in love with himself.
"How.... do you know my name?"
"It is your time to follow Cinéad." She says walking into the water, her voice humming as a bird in the spring.
"Follow where? I don't understand, madam, they'll kill you!" I scream but she keeps walking till she is fully submerged into the red lake. I let a tear flow before I jump into the icy water, shocking my body as if I am falling onto hard ground. I open my eyes, I have fallen onto hard ground.

I look up, the grey landscape is nothing like the place we had just been. The snow has melted, there is no lake and there is only grey dust, ashes, and barren trees. The ghostly woman is standing in front of me, looking into the distance as her dress dances on the wind like leaves are supposed to in auttumn. The only way she could possibly be real would be if there would be something like perfection in this world, and regretfully Cínead knows better as he look at the imgaginative wasteland. Flags and old armours are rusting in the moist mud of the world that not is. The soldier and prince tilts his head, choking on his own oxygen.
"Who are you?" He asks as he coughss through his confusion.
"I have no name to you yet." The woman says, her burgundry locks obscuring her porcelain face sculpted out of marble.
"Where am I?"
"The place prompting you too many questions..." She says as she stares into the distance.
"I am dead aren't I.... Is this hell?" He asks his heavy eyelids causing his eyes to revert to looking at the sky as his whole stomach churns in pain and agony.
"You do not deserve hell, little orpheus.... But you haven't made the journey to the paradise yet."